Night of the Gilt Edged Mirror a W3 tale by Rielle
by Gabrielle Baer
Summary: following 'TNOT Murderous Spring' W3 -Season One James West and Artemus Gordon each learn what the other agent saw in Doctor Loveless' "Magic Mirror". Slash- First time - Pairing J/A
1. Chapter 1

**The Night of the Gilt-Edged Mirror** An Adult W3 Tale

–by Gabrielle Caitrin Roniyah Bhaer

- Following 'The Night of the Murderous Spring' W3, Season One

Disclaimer:

I don't own rights of any kind to the characters or storylines of the classic series 'The Wild, Wild, West', and that's a darned shame. James T West, Artemus Gordon, Colonel Richmond, Jeremy Pike, Frank Harper and 'Miguelito' Quixote Loveless do not belong to me. Dang it anyway.

Those rights belong to the late Michael Garrison and Leonard Katzman's estates,

to Bruce Lansbury, John Kneubuhl, who wrote 'TNOTMS' and who created the character of Miguelito Loveless for Michael Dunn, the other producers of W3 and to the Columbia Broadcasting System CBS. No copyright infringement or profit taking of any kind is intended by this work of fiction. So please, don't sue me; it would be a huge waste of attorney-billing hours.

This work of fiction is based on a premise of a committed, consensual, same

gender relationship between the principal characters. It this were a teleplay, it

would therefore carry a rating of PG-17. If such topics or fictional representations are not to your taste, or if you are below age 17, please, read no further.

This story is dedicated to three gifted actors, in alphabetical order Michael Dunn, Robert Conrad and Ross Martin who, with their incredible creative talents of contributed so very much to the series which inspired this story; Michael Dunn, Robert Conrad and Ross Martin. It is my thank you to them all for the fun, the fantasy and the terrific 'ride' they gave so many others and me by letting us come onboard the Wanderer, and share their adventures.

Sadly, Michael Dunn and Ross Martin are no longer with us, so I can't thank them in person, now. Nevertheless I want to say that W3 would never have been the marvelous show it was, without both of them and their boundless talents. What they shared with all of us was manifestly their great passion for acting, for characters, and for story telling on a grand scale. We were and we still are very lucky to have shared the world with them. And if the opportunity arose I would want to say this to Robert Conrad; thanks so very much for bringing James T. West so vividly to life, and for all of your other incomparable work. That is a tremendous gift of yourself, which we can never repay.

Cast of Characters: Night of the Gilt-Edged Mirror

**'The Team' the good guys **

Charles Aidman as Tobias Jeremy 'Jere' Pike

Stockard Channing as Julia Dent Boggs Grant

Robert Conrad as James Torrance Kiernan West

Ross Martin as Artemus Alastair Lachlan Gordon

nee Adamech Elisha Auriel Gorniak

William Schallert as Thomas Benjamin Franklin 'Frank' Harper

Martin Sheen as Ulysses Simpson Grant

John Spencer as Thomas Micheal Kieran Macquillan JD

Prologue:

_''What d'you want to be, a hero!'' Jim demanded, glaring at his partner; his head still echoing to the horrible headache he'd had all day long. _

_''Hey, wait a minute.'' Artemus Gordon answered, looking more bemused than annoyed by_

_ his partner's brusque manner, and more worried about that same partner, James West than anything else. ''This is me, remember; Artemus Gordon, Mrs. Gordon's son?'' _

West blinked and shook his still aching head. Suddenly, he felt as if he hadn't really seen Artie standing in front of him until now. '' Sorry, Artie. '' He apologized, shocked and ashamed by his words and his tone. ''For a minute, it was like I almost **hated **you. ''

SCENE ONE: An hour after Loveless' 'escape' to the lake.

Doctor Miguelito Loveless was dead and gone, drowned in his own private lake. So were Kitty and Antoinette, lost under the water so deep Jim West couldn't find them after more than ten minute's diving, surfacing for another deep breath, and diving again. All he'd found were the oars from their ill-fated rowboat; the one West sunk himself with one well placed shot. He didn't like killing women ever; It wasn't the way he was raised to think or act. But what was there to do, when they insisted on trying to escape, trying to help 'the little doctor' escape, once more?

Now, at least, the latest and, so it seemed, the last plot from the amazing brain of that 'little man with a giant rage' was just as dead as that trio. The case would soon be closed, after droves of vigilantly gloved and masked government scientists removed and disposed of every last ounce of the doctor's deadly powder. As far as Jim West was concerned, all of it couldn't be destroyed even a second too soon. He knew in his own mind and memory and gut the horrors it was capable of wreaking. He knew how horribly afraid he'd been for the moment it seemed Loveless would 'try' it on Artie.

And now Jim knew just how terribly, how efficiently that nightmare compound would have worked on thousands, on millions of unsuspecting men, women and children, around the world, if Loveless got his way. He'd made himself go back inside the doctor's ''asylum''. He'd squared his chin and his shoulders and made it back to the door of the staff dining room. There was no doubt in his mind that a genuine nightmare waited on the other side. And it was a nightmare he had no little responsibility for, himself, the soldier-agent considered.

Taking another deep breath, West opened the dining room door, strode inside, and choked back a gasp. Not since the last firefight of the War, in the spring of '65, had he seen so much violent death in such a small space. The room couldn't have been more than 9 by 14 feet, crowded with a heavy dinner table, chairs and two highboys. The people in the room, the bodies were strewn about as if an artillery barrage had been opened on them, or a wave of enfilading fire. And the marks of the terrifying way these staffers died were plain to be read on their faces, so that their last shrieks and cries seemed to linger in the air above them, still.

_''Was he right? Did my 'Doubting Thomas' routine call this horror down on twenty innocent men and women? _Jim wondered._ If that's so, the least I can do is take burial detail for them. It's the very least I can do for them, in fact! _

Nodding to himself, West now bent to shift the first corpse he came to, the body of a wiry, red headed man he'd seen in Loveless' employ for years.

''They're **not** on your due bill, Jim.'' Artie said, walking into the dining room behind him. ''**Loveless** made that hellish compound; and** he** mixed that poison of his in their wine, my friend, **not you**.''

'' When did you start reading my mind, Artemus?'' Jim asked, not really minding the actor-agent's understanding; but not willing to admit he almost liked it, either.

''When did I start? When did I stop?'' Artie chuckled, and laid one strong hand on Jim's right shoulder. '' Let's just say I can guess what the little doctor wanted you to think, when you heard them, James, much less when you finally saw them. Not that I'd like to think I could read **his **mind!''

''You never had to; he's… he'd always tell you what was on his mind… '' Jim said and then realized he was repeating what he'd told Artie hours before. ''C'mon, Artie, let's at least get them … decently laid out. if that's even possible. Then we can find the telegraph he's sure to have had somewhere in the house; and get the word out. Washington will be really relieved,

I guess, to hear Loveless' died. ''

''You **still **don't believe he's dead?'' Artie questioned, canting his dark head and studying Jim intently. This was something else his partner did that used to be damned annoying, West thought. Now he didn't mind the scrutiny of those wide-dark/bright eyes at all.

''I'm not sure I'd believe it if I saw Loveless killed and laid out himself, in front of my eyes.'' Jim admitted, and shuddered. ''I'm not sure I believe anything or anyone **could** stop the small doctor. Not after the past… **was** it **really** only **two** days?''

''Just about.'' Artie agreed, and bent to help Jim carry the first dead staffer out of the blood stained dining room.

When that grisly duty was done, an hour later; the actor was sure his partner would jump onto the first available horse and take off away from this fake asylum as fast as four hooves could carry his lithe young frame. Instead, Jim went in search of the doctor's study and once there began tapping out one telegraphed report to their superiors after another. He went on sending those reports, and noting the answers they received for the rest of the day, and well into the evening.

Jim was in what Artie called 'full not really retired Regular Army officer mode'; putting every possible element of what seemed his duty ahead of any other consideration. He was therefore, hardly talking, much less making conversation. Also, Jim wasn't really listening, he wasn't eating, and he scowled darkly when Artie suggested a break, a walk or G-d forbid, a rest! And all of that told the actor that the younger man was profoundly, almost overwhelmingly troubled.

He had every right to be troubled, of course. He'd been sent on a journey to hell. Artemus' own lively, creative imagination told him something of what that must have been like; coming to believe you'd shot down your own best friend. The actor-agent suppressed no few shudders of his own, as that nightmare scenario, but in reverse, played itself out more than once in his own mind. The sheer cruelty involved was horrendous, even coming from Loveless. And yet the 'small doctor' had claimed he did it only as an experiment, a final test of his compound? Artie scowled and shook his head. Loveless' envy and hatred for Jim West had been evident in all their encounters. But this time the mad little genius had topped even himself for malevolence!

Jim admitted 'I nearly went out of my mind.' Added to that were the witnesses in town, whose accounts Artie would certainly take over Loveless or Kitty's, who said the younger agent had gone raving mad. Now, as they listened to official responses coming in from the long list of officials they were called on to report to, Artie found himself watching Jim more surreptiously than usual. Something more was going on in that handsome young head. The more he studied his partner's bearing, movements and expressions, the surer Artemus Gordon became of just that.


	2. Chapter 2

SCENE TWO A fortnight later.

_ 'Get out of my way!'' the driving torment in his skull that seemed to have taken on it's own voice and it's own existence was saying harshly._

_''No, I'm not letting you leave here, not in this state.'' the other voice, whose owner he could hardly see for the red mist clouding his vision._

_ For some reason that voice seemed to be almost as mocking as the manic laughter he couldn't keep from tearing at his mind any longer. He couldn't bear any of it another minute, another instant; not the pain, not the laughter and not this mockery, either. He had to make it stop! He had to make it go away!_

_''No.'' the other voice said, calmly, refusing to comply, refusing to take the demands of the pain in his skull seriously at all._

''I said, get out of my way!'' the tortured man demanded, and helplessly felt his separate-maddened self; now lifting the pistol gripped frantically in his right hand. He had an almost ghostly sense of watching something happen from outside his body, outside himself. His arm was raising the revolver; his fingers were gripping and now squeezing the trigger. His ears were ringing with the roar of a shot firing in this enclosed place, wherever this place was.

But he wasn't doing any of those things! **He couldn't be!** Because in the next moment the mist cleared and his long time partner and his best friend stood at point blank range of that revolver's barrel. Artie stood in the path of that shot and stared at him as if utterly astonished. Artie was falling. His partner was falling heavily backwards. And then, giving the younger man half an instant's hope, Artemus was pushing himself to his feet again. That was a false, vain hope. Shining, wet red blood stained the actor's fingers and blossomed on his shirt and once more, onto his side this time, Artie fell to the floor of this … stable or barn, barely breathing.

Jim stared, shook his head, despite the pounding, driving pain that was coming back again. Then the soldier-agent knelt, as he had so many times by so many fallen comrades, so many brothers in arms. All the horridly familiar signs were there to be clearly seen. The man he knelt by was dying. Artie's dying! **You **just shot your partner**, and** your best friend in the world down like a mad dog! And you've got no idea, not any understanding or memory to tell you why. And then the nightmare deepened, as, helplessly lifting Artie's head for a moment, Jim saw the light and life going out in Artie's dark, bright eyes; and heard the actor whispering the same, exact question: ''Why?''

'Why? Why? Why?'' Jim groaned, shaking his head, repeating and repeating the question.

''Jim! Jim! Wake up!'' Artemus called out, shaking the younger man's shoulders. '' You're having that same damn nightmare again. C'mon, James, c'mon now, man; just wake up!''

''Artie? Artemus! Ah, G-d, I had that dream again?'' Jim asked, gasping, nearly jumping up off the divan he'd finally fallen asleep on, on the leeward side of the varnish car.

''That's me, and you did. '' The actor-agent nodded, trying for a lighthearted tone and manner. ''Maybe for you, no more extra spicy cacciatore for supper, huh?''

'' It was dinner, Artie. Supper's later… And yeah, maybe no more extra … whatever.'' Jim nodded, shuddering and rubbing his forehead. ''And maybe … no more shaving powder, either.''

''Well, I think you'd look just fine with a beard, James m' boy.'' Artie suggested, noting again that in fact the younger man **hadn't **shaved in a fortnight. '' And the President would probably think you were trying to flatter him. And it's certainly still all the rage in the Regular Army… So…''

''So, yeah, maybe I'll think about it. When I can manage to think… Right now my head, my neck, and my shoulders feel like somebody did **a really bad** job of trying to weld them together.'' Jim complained, reaching to rub at the left side portion of the offending muscles and joints.

''Comes from sleeping on furniture that wasn't even really made to sit on, my friend. Get over on the couch, James; and I'll work those kinks out of you in no time flat!'' Artie grinned, to hide his own concern. This was the fourteenth evening since they left Loveless' 'asylum' and the forty-second time he knew of that Jim woke up from nightmares from his ordeal then.

'' **No!**'' Jim exclaimed, startling himself and, he could tell, Artie, with his vehemence. He shook his head, despite the way it was aching.

''What in the devil?'' Artie protested, startled, no stunned by his partner's reaction. After the first awkward few months of their partnership, during the winter of '61, Jim West had never shown anything but genuine appreciation for Artemus Gordon's skill as a masseur. He'd certainly never refused when the actor offered them, before now. And with all the riding Jim did, all the hiking, hunting, climbing, running and swimming he ended up doing in the course of one investigation or another; it wasn't a bit surprising that his taut frame and muscular, boxer's build needed a good massage now and then. Giving those kinks and knots a workout of their own when time permitted at the end of a case, had become just part of their routine, even if it was one Artie looked forward to more than he'd care to admit.

'' Sorry, Artie… '' Jim apologized, immediately, clearly repentant.

''Well that's all right, Jim. You're just …'' Artie waved the apology off, or started to when Jim interrupted him, yet again.

''I… I'm just going to… just go for a ride…to just clear my head. I 'll… I'll see you, Artie.'' the soldier-agent said, sounding regretful, but determined, and rushed away, in the direction of the stable-car

Artemus stared and blinked, but stopped himself from running after the younger man. He'd done that too often and to no avail, just lately. Not even once in the last fortnight had Jim thanked the actor for his trouble on those occassions. Truth be told, more often, the younger agent came close to losing his temper with Gordon, insisting he didn't 'need a nanny, a nursemaid or a guard-dog either, thanks!'

That attitude was another new development in the James West the older agent knew. And the temper flaring in Jim's bright green eyes, as it almost had again, a moment ago was another recent change. The soldier-agent kept his temper and his temperament under the commanding restraint of his determined will at any and all occassions. Jim had finally explained that to Artie, some time back, as a matter of fact. It was just what Jim West believed his job as an agent called for; the stoic, steady, literally unflappable demeanor a field officer was trained and duty-bound to project at all times and under **all circumstances**.

But what struck Artemus as genuinely surprising now was what he was sure he'd seen in Jim's eyes as the soldier-agent reined in his temper. For all of fifteen, maybe twenty seconds, the younger agent eyes showed deathly fear! But what could trigger that blatant flash of unchecked emotion in Jim was what really puzzled the actor. Artie couldn't quite get the idea to wrap around his mind, the question of what was frightening Jim West these days. The actor's first impulse was to reject that notion out of hand.

_Nothing frightens Jim! Absolutely nothing! Sometimes I've almost wished something would, so he'd be … less reckless, but wouldn't he also be less… Jim, that way? Anyhow, Jim West being frightened … It's just preposterous to even consider_ … Artie told himself and then realized even he wasn't buying it.

Because there it was, for the length of half a moment, the space of half a breath; I saw unmistakable fear in Jim's eyes! He jumped up off that divan and stared at me and was out the door less than a minute later! So, let's be analytical, shall we? Let's look at how this little exchange fits with the past fortnight's crazy-quilt pattern, shall we, Artemus, old friend? **And for the love of G-d, don't let Jim West hear you using words like crazy! **All right, of course, Jim could still be reacting to the way Loveless did his level worst to drive him insane. I haven't and I don't even want to think anymore what that must have been like. I could see it for most of the first week afterwards, in the way Jim would glance at me, or be standing over me, watching intently, when I woke up from a catnap, as if he were afraid I'd stop breathing. I could see it every time Jim just barely stopped himself short from checking my coat, or my shirt for bullet holes, again. For more than a day and a half the nightmare was entirely real for Jim, and to some extent, it clearly still is!

'' I thought I shot you.'' _Was Jim's entire description of the ordeal he went through, succinct and to the point, as always. And then he realized, which was almost worse, if I read my Jim Wests right, that the entire damnable scenario had been Loveless manipulations! And yet he's still worried, still afraid, he could slip back into the nightmare… Never mind being afraid, he's still falling back into that lunatic's trickery and torments, whenever he does manage to fall asleep!_

_And I think, although how I could ever come around to asking Jim if I'm right… I think my partner's afraid that madness could somehow still reach out and take him, still trip him up and make him actually kill… someone. And actually that only goes to show he's completely sane. I'll have to try to bring that up to Jim, when and if I get the chance. **No madman** ever worried for an instant about his sanity. No lunatic, Miguelito Loveless very much included, ever asked himself if he were mad._

''No, no waiting on that, Jim needs to understand that wondering, asking if you're going crazy means you're not doing anything of the kind!'' Artie quietly decided and started to stride out of the varnish car.

''If you're coming to find me, partner, I'm still here… I didn't take that ride.'' Jim said, walking back into the car. '' Seems as though we're pretty much in the middle of nowhere, just now. **And **it's nearly 100 degrees in the shade out there. Duke didn't much cotton to the idea of a gallop under **those **conditions. Figure **that's** why they call it horse-sense.''

''Well, you know, James, m'boy, as my Great Aunt Maude used to say, there's just as much horse sense as ever out in the world, Artemus, my boy, she'd say..'' Artie said, swallowing a sigh of relief at his partner's return.

''… Only it's mostly the horses that have it.'' Jim finished, with a fraction of his usual daybright grin.

'' Oh, I guess I've mentioned that … ''

''Before now, yeah, you have, a **few** times, Artie. Now, there are a couple of things I'd like to ask you, partner.'' Jim insisted. ''And I want some more cacciatore. But I'll lay off the extra pepperonici, this time.

''Uh-oh.'' the actor muttered, wondering if his partner in spying had been spying on his deliberations.

''Maybe uh-oh. and maybe not. C'mon, sit down; I'll dish us both up some early supper. And by the way, you really need to get that right, Artemus. **Supper** is a fairly light meal you have after sundown, usually. '' Jim shook his head. **''Dinner, **on the other hand,is a great big meal you have around noonday, and then go sleep it off. That's probably where the idea came from for taking siestas.''

''That's probably **backwards** of the way it really happened, James. I have a strong feeling the Conquistadores were the ones who imported the habit of taking siestas from Spain to the Americas. And the usage you're giving for dinner and supper, that **mainly** applies, in my observation and experience **below** the Mason-Dixon line. Which **might** explain why you learned it that way, as that line actually…''

'' **That **line makes up part of the state boundary between Pennsylvania and Maryland, right. '' Jim nodded. ''And I was born in Silver Spring, even though momma wanted to get home to N'folk before I was born. She always said I was born in a hurry and just kept on that way. But I **still **have those questions, which you're doing a fine job of dodging, Artie. And they're nothing really that important…''

''But you're my partner, Jim, there shouldn't be anything you can't ask me.'' Artie protested.

''As long as you retain the right to say it's none of my business, right?'' Jim offered.

'' Exactly right. Now, what's got your curiosity up, this time?'' the actor asked, smiling and wondering why the younger man still seemed tense, no, almost nervous.

''Your Great Aunt Maude, Artie… she does. And considering the huge favor I owe her… I probably shouldn't even ask.''

''Favor, what favor?'' Artie frowned, confused.

'' She tipped you off when … that second time we tangled with 'the little doctor', and Janus was impersonating me. Isn't that what you told me, later? Janus didn't know the first thing about Great Aunt Maude, and that's what tipped you off?'' Jim asked.

''Oh, sure! He was walking out, and I said something about the grand, old lady, another one of her shrewd sayings, as I recall. '' Artie nodded, ruefully grinning. '' Janus made the mistake of asking me how Aunt Maude was doing lately. And I'm sorry to say, that poor excuse for an impersonation of my partner was out the door again, before I realized his gaffe. So, what did **you **want to ask me about that fine, old dame, James?''

''Well, I … I'm wondering, in fact I think I know … In fact, I don't think you have a Great Aunt Maude. She doesn't really exist, does she, Artie?''

''Why, James, I'm surprised at you!'' Artie started to joke and then saw his best friend's expression grow worried, again. '' All right, all right, you're right. That sweet old lady never drew breath, not that I know of, anyway. Just goes to show that, at least at that time, the 'good doctor' had a fairly extensive dossier on James Kiernan Torrance West; but **not **much of one on Artemus Alastair Lachlan Gordon!''

''We should have gone through his files and papers to see what he **did** know, I guess.'' Jim said, shaking his head and sounding worried again.

''We sent a whole flock of bright, young Service analysts down there from the Denver office, Jim. If they find anything we need to know; I'm sure we'll hear about it, eventually. The Service isn't quite as close mouthed as the Regular Army, after all; they sometimes **let** us agents know something we haven't been issued the right to know… you know.'' Artie quipped, and then started worrying again, himself.

Usually any wisecracks he chose to make about the Army, with Jim being a West Pointer, got at the very least a modest rise out of the soldier-agent. Now Jim turned to stare out of the windward side windows, instead of confronting his partner's 'lousy sense of humor'. ''But you said you had another question, partner. Well, what is it?' the actor probed.

'' That mirror…Did you see the huge, gilt edged mirror in Loveless'… parlour there, or whatever he called it… '' Jim started to say and then shook his head, frowning, seeming reluctant to go on, again.

_Oh my G-d! Is **that **what's eating you, James?_ Artie thought and almost blurted it out._ Were you standing behind me when I looked in that mirror? Did you … could you have seen what I …really **only imagined** I saw in it? No, no, that's … No, you were two rooms down the hall, still sending out wires then! And a damn good thing you were, too! The man's staring at you, Artemus, my boy! Say something to him before **he **starts wondering what's going on with **you**!_

''Well … oh, that G-d awful gaudy one, that looked about nine feet tall, that one, James?'' Artie asked, feeling as if he was covering nicely.

''Yeah, that one, Artie. First the doctor, and later Kitty looked in that mirror. And they… saw things there. They seemed to see… ''

''They were **both** terribly deluded souls, partner. They saw just what they wanted to see, everytime, everywhere they looked. That's what delusions do for … some people. They can't deal with what's real around them… so … they create their own version of reality. And that way lies true madness, James. And since I've cracked open that can of worms now; I can tell you for absolutely, certain sure, **you're **as sane as the day is long, my friend.''

'' Or I **wouldn't** go around wondering if I'm sane?'' Jim asked so quietly Artie almost didn't hear him. '' I wouldn't be wondering that, **even **after what happened a fortnight back? You're **certain sure** of that, Artemus?''

'' I'm absolutely sure, James.'' Artie nodded, keeping his eyes fixed on Jim's, to make sure he had the younger man's attention and comprehension, now. ''Madmen don't question their sanity. It's almost axiomatic. They can't. They've locked themselves firmly into their delusions and illusions and … sick fantasies. How many megalomaniacs have you and I met by this time, with the same 'little problem'? Juan Manolo, General Flory… Doctor Kirby, Thorald Wolf, just to name a particularly unfriendly quartet?''

'' Professor Cadwallader, Ansel Coffin, General Grimm, Doctor Aucularis…'' Jim added, shuddering hard at the last of those names. ''Shoot him, Mister West.'' the younger agent muttered, remembering **that **madexperimenter's instructions. ''Shoot the bad, bad Indian.''

''And, as it happened, that's **just** what you did. Ahkeema died for what he tried to do to his people and all the rest of us. So did Aucularis, and now, **so** has Loveless, Jim.'' Artie stopped the younger man as Jim started to move away, with one strong hand on his shoulder, and held his breath, wary of the younger man's recent tendency to pull away. To his relief, for a long moment, Jim almost seemed to lean into his partner's strong reassurance; he only moved when Artie shifted his weight from one leg to the other.

'' You **never **did what **any** of those bastards wanted, James. You never **could have.** And more fool they for thinking they could make you their pawn! So, **stop** borrowing trouble when you know the next case will bring enough of its own, without that. It always does.''

''The next case… '' Jim nodded, rubbing his eyes in a sure sign, to Artie's practiced glance, that he was even more tired than he admitted. ''You're right. There's always going to be the next case, I suppose, isn't there?''

'' That's what we get paid the big money for, isn't it?'' Artie chuckled.

''That's what they tell me, Artemus. The big money and all this luxury… and all the adventures, all the fun we have…'' Jim muttered. '' It seemed like fun… till just lately.''

'' Yeah, well, you know, you're **not **as young as you used to be, partner.'' Artie chided. ''And you haven't exactly been sleeping well. How can you expect to enjoy all the marvelous benefits of our line of work, when you're practically exhausted, Jim?''

''Are you threatening to drug me, Artemus?'' Jim frowned, but not as darkly as he'd hoped to. Artie saw right through him… as if through a windowpane; or as if he stood in back of Jim as the soldier agent looked in a mirror.

_Ah, God! Artie, you weren't standing behind me when I looked in that blasted mirror! Were you?_ Jim wondered, frantically searching his worn out memory for a split second. _You didn't see what I … what I **couldn't have really seen** there, did you? No, no, you were sound asleep in the 'hospital room' I woke up in, just before you got there. You were 'sawing logs', when I was walking back from the doctor's study… when I turned and looked … No, you weren't in that room at all… when I … looked in that mirror. And a damn good thing! All right, you've got Artie frowning and almost staring at you, now. Say something to the man, for now at least, he's still your partner!_

''Sorry, Artie. That didn't exactly come out the way I meant … '' Jim hastily apologized, again.

''I'm not threatening anything at all, James. And you're almost in no shape to know what you mean to say. I can tell that because you've now apologized to me twice in the space of less than an hour! So, I'm going to give you something to help you sleep… **really** sleep. And you're going to take it, Jim; or I'm immediately going to wire the President for **his direct orders** on just that subject. And I'd really prefer not to bother the Man about this. I think you'd agree with me, at least on that point, right, James?''

''He's got … a lot better things to be bothered with lately, right, Artemus.'' Jim nodded, well aware the actor wasn't issuing a threat at all, but a promise.

''That's better.'' Artie said, striding to the 'armoire' at the back of the varnish car that held many of his own most practical devices and inventions. In this case, he opened the cabinet, and then removed a small wooden chest, and a copper and sterling silver flask with a metal cap that held a precisely measured third of a cup. These articles won a rueful frown from Jim but no other protest. He was all too familiar with their contents and their uses.

'' Just make sure you're not giving me any quinine, **this** time, partner.'' Jim suggested. ''I'm not coming down with malaria.''

''No, you're coming down with insomnia **this **time, partner, for which I have a sovereign cure.'' Artie said, smiling as he pulled a vial from the wooden chest and mixed some of its contents with a fraction of a dram from the shining metal flask. ''If you were coming down with malaria, partner, believe me, I'd be having a lot less trouble doctoring you.''

''And just why is that?'' Jim asked, feeling much more like himself as he bantered with Artie.

'' Because you'd already be flat on your back, and out of your head with fever, as well as all the other, far less auspicious symptoms. Now, drink this down, and go to bed, James. And I mean go to sleep; no reading reports, no checking for wires, no looking at journals, charts or maps, **And**, no studying any new codes or gambits to try and stump me. Doctor Gordon's orders. You're not even close to the top of your form, right now, my friend. And even when you **are**, you're **still** no…'' Artie said, handing the younger agent the copper bound silver cup.

'' … Match for the Master. '' Jim sighed, drinking the small cup's contents, which didn't taste nearly as harsh as he'd expected, thinking Artie sounded more like himself, too. '' I know, Artie, I know. Thanks, Artie.''

''It's a pleasure.'' the actor smiled, and naturally enough, took a bow.

'' Okay, okay. See you, Artie.'' Jim said and, knowing he'd be watched intently, until he fully complied, walked back to his cabin and stretched out on the bunk he'd been studiously avoiding lately. It wasn't uncomfortable at all, far from it, he just hadn't been able to fall asleep. Well, that wasn't exactly true, either; he was dog tired and had fallen asleep any number of times, only to half wake up, standing once more in that darkened barn, raising his revolver… firing… and feeling the whole horror show start up… again.

That was one of the reasons he'd done all he could to keep from sleeping, lately. But it was only one, Jim considered, shaking his head as he sat up again, to take off his boots, his belt and his vest. The mirror, the tall, ornate, gilt-edged mirror in Loveless' parlour was the other reason. And what he'd imagined he saw in there was more than enough to keep a man awake, the soldier agent thought, unless of course that man had the warm, strong, wrapped in cotton wool feeling benefits of one of Artemus Gordon's '' sovereign cures''!

He'd surely be able to sleep without those nightmares now. Artie's talent for such chemical aids was unquestionably as profound as his talent for inventing, for improvising, for scripting, for dialects, for disguises, for friendship, and of course, for acting. Artie's many talents surely made him as much a genius as any of the maniacs they'd faced and fought off together. But nothing could move the actor onto their warped paths. And, Jim thought, there must have been times; there must have been hard times before they met, when a weaker spirit, a more fragile character would have taken that easier, darker way. He'd never asked, and Artie had never offered to talk about those times or those chances.

True friends share everything, Jim remembered a boyhood friend in prep school quoting from some part of their Greek lessons. Except the past, before they met. And that's only right. Jim once more agreed. What happened before we knew each other… what does it matter? Anyway, you're supposed to be going to sleep now; you're supposed to be letting Artie's 'sovereign cure' go ahead and cure your impending insomnia. If he comes down the galley way and even guesses you're sitting here pondering a lot of nonsensical imaginings… He'll be wiring Washington, and the President for those orders, before you can say Jack Robinson, much less stop him!

So, you're saying I should just go to sleep, which I will any minute now, anyway, and forget what was only a lot of nonsense I was too tired and too worked up to understand? I know I don't really understand what I saw in that mirror. It made no real sense at all. I should just forget what was just a weird kind of reaction to Loveless' latest dirty tricks? I should erase as much of those forty-eight hours from my brain as I possibly can, and write it off as just a bad job all around?

And so, I'm sitting here, talking to myself, now? Isn't **that **more than a little bit crazy all by itself? And isn't going crazy for real what you're worrying about, lately? Well, you may as well give it up and go to sleep. You're not only **talking** to yourself, you're **lying** to yourself, too! Crazy isn't what's got you worried, West. Crazy is what you know you're not, just like Artie said, or you **wouldn't even ask** that question. No, **crazy** isn't the problem here at all… well, not **that **kind of crazy! No, the problem is your over-worked, under-slept, and still more than a bit rattled imagination! So shut it, shut down and get some sleep!

Nodding to himself, glad he wasn't actually having this conversation with Artie present, or worse still, with Artie, Jim lay back and let the sleeping powder finally begin to work on his stretched nerves and cramped muscles. He closed his eyes and pushed all the weird, crazed, unexpected thoughts and ideas and what **couldn't be anything** but his own strange, strained imaginings as far away as he could.

He wanted no more thoughts, no more memories and no more of nightmares from this latest encounter with Miguelito Loveless. He was fully capable of setting all that aside, apart and well out of his way. It was **nothing** to do with Jim West or the life he lived and in truth, greatly cherished. It was **nothing** to do with his work or his working partner, Artemus Gordon.

_ And Artemus would be chagrined, if not shocked if not repulsed by the least mention of … incomprehensible images seen in a madman's trick mirror. That's all they were… just imagery… just … more tricks… The little doctor **loved **his mind games, his puzzles, his boasts and his myriad traps and tricks! The little doctor filled his various and sundry houses, towns and 'asylums' with just that kind of snare. That blasted mirror was just the latest, and G-d willing the last of them!_


	3. Chapter 3

SCENE THREE

_'You are invincible.'' Miguelito Loveless said admiringly to his astoundingly enlarged reflection in the tall, gilt-framed mirror. ''Is there anything you cannot do? Is there any world you cannot make to live in?'' he went on to ask this wonderful vision of himself. _

_''No, none.'' that image responded with unruffled pride. ''The world I wish for is the world I shall have.'' _

''You have spoken.'' Loveless nodded to himself and turned back to Antoinette at the spinet.

The 'little doctor's' ego was at least twelve feet tall, so there was no doubt in Jim West's mind what Loveless saw when** he** looked in that huge mirror with the gaudy-Baroque gilt frame. The miniature megalomaniac undoubtedly saw himself a giant, a conqueror. And even when Kitty gazed into that same mirror, while Jim and Artie each talked like Dutch uncles trying to get her help; it wasn't much of a stretch to hear what she said and imagine what she was seeing there. She wanted what Loveless promised her. And she had to believe him; she had to believe the doctor knew her heart's yearning, and would give her that dream of beauty. No, neither of those things was surprising, much less shocking.

What shocked Jim then, and surprised him still, was what his own glance into the mirror. And considering what happened in the previous twenty four-plus hours, he wouldn't have thought there was much left to be shocked, much less surprised by. But Jim was, in fact, first he was badly chagrinned and then he was profoundly shaken. And those feelings, those reactions hadn't gone away in more than a fortnight now. Neither had the feeling of being at a total loss, neither had the wish Jim had half the time now that he'd never looked in Loveless' mirror at all!

First, there'd been an image of himself, only something on the order of fifteen or twenty years older. As might be expected, if only because it was much in the style of many of the men Jim West most admired, the first thing he noticed about this 'older self' was a full beard, dark, and just barely starting to show grey. Next, he saw a crowd shifting and milling, and pushing to get closer to him. They were reaching out, they were shouting, they were laughing far too loudly; they were applauding him, and pounding each other's backs. They were acting like a lot of toadies, in fact, the ones who weren't either acting like reporters, petitioners, and cronies, or aggravated Secret Service agents. They were all trying to get his attention, one way or another. And he wasn't able to move a step without stepping on one or more of their toes!

This older self, the younger Jim noted had also put on some weight, especially around the waist, and therefore looked both more prosperous and more self-indulgent. His face was paler than it had been at any time in his youth, and his shoulders seemed bent a little. There were more laugh lines around his eyes, and more worry lines creasing his brow, too in this not exactly mirror image. And he wasn't dressed as a 'richman's son', but far more soberly, much more like a politician!

''Wait! I'm not a politician!'' Jim the younger protested, gaping and glaring at this older self. ''And I never will be!''

''Who said you're looking at yourself, at me, that is, as just another politician? Jim the elder asked, grinning, all the while he kept a cigar clamped firmly between his teeth. ''Can't you see how the people around me are behaving, toadying and dancing attendance? Can't you tell from the way they're acting **what duty** I've 'reluctantly' taken on for the sake of the country, and **the Man** who best showed me how to face, and **how to do** that duty? And isn't that exactly what you've dreamed more than once of doing?''

'**'The Man**?'' Jim the watcher echoed. ''The President? Are you trying to tell me **I want** to be President! That's outrageous! I don't want any such thing.''

''Are you** trying **to lie to yourself **again**? The bearded, older Jim demanded, frowning. And just **when **did that get you anywhere? And just what kind of honor does it do the Man you work for to deny you'd **love** to follow in his footsteps! President Grant would be delighted to see his protégé do just that, surely more than some of the shiftless, worthless other contenders! So why not admit it, you're seeing me, seeing yourself just the way you secretly wish you could be, someday, with the right friends and the right backing. Well, who's to say you can't be, you **surely** have all the right connections, James m' boy! ''

That very Artemusian phrase stopped the scene in the mirror cold and Jim shook his head, like a hunting dog climbing out of a pond, to clear it. That was definitely Artie's plaguing sense of humor. And even though Artie wasn't even paying attention, wasn't even in the doctor's parlour' at the time, Jim knew he was 'seeing' this image of 'James T. West as President', because he'd become long since infected with the actor's ironic wit. Jim started to laugh at his own weary imagination, and started to turn away from the strange mirror. But something stopped him and he turned back once more to face it.

Now, more than two weeks later, safely home aboard the Wanderer, safely en route to another briefing on another assignment, Jim felt himself almost physically pulling back, pulling away from remembering his second look in that mirror. And he felt himself almost mesmerized, nearly helpless to keep from indulging that memory. And Jim knew, more and more as time stretched between him and that 'asylum' and the horrors of the day before he woke up there, that his second look in Loveless' mirror, and his second reaction to what he saw there, was more true, more accurate, and far, far more impossible.

''What are you telling me, James?'' Artie was asking his partner, when the younger man looked back in the doctor's mirror. ''What are you saying? Or should I ask, what **aren't** you saying?''

''There you go again; getting all theoretically insightful on me!'' Jim in that second 'vision' protested.

''Well, we **have** been partners since October of '61, my friend; so I think I might know **something** about you, Jim.'' Artie said, grinning that knowing grin of his, the one Jim always pretended to be so annoyed by. ''Is this something you think I really don't know, or something you think I know and just haven't admitted to, after all this time? ''

''This is something …No, Artie, no, this is nothing, it's not **… anything**! It's just my over-tired, over worked, over excited imagination painting outlandish pictures in the doctor's mirror!'' Jim insisted, to himself as much as to the still grinning but now, more confused, image of his partner.

''Outlandish pictures, James; you're telling me that **your** imagination's painting outlandish pictures? Well, are they any good? Are they … James; is **your** imagination painting low, wicked, appallingly depraved picture? Well, c'mon, the least you can do after admitting to such a thing is **let me see** them!'' Artie in the mirror asked, laughing heartily now.

**''NO!** ''Jim shouted, fuming now, but mostly with himself for letting this can of worms come open.''**NO! NO, YOU CAN'T!** They're not EVEN real, Artie. They're just some kind of… just another of the little doctor's nasty tricks, or maybe just something left over from his last one! And as much as I admit to saying I'll miss Loveless, I'm **not gonna** miss his fondness for mind games, not even one bit! ''

''All right, partner, all right. Calm down, you **just said** these … pictures aren't real. So why worry? Why get yourself in an uproar about them? Loveless is gone, that's certain, he could never have survived, **no one** can survive more than five minutes underwater, James, not the healthiest man alive, which the small doctor surely was not. But you're right, he probably left this place **crammed** with tricks and traps and all sorts of unwelcome surprises. That's why the best thing you could do right now is put a few hundred miles between yourself and the late doctor's latest carnival ride.'' Artie said, and put one strong hand on Jim's shoulder.

This was a gesture the actor had used more times than Jim West could count, to reassure, to calm, or to turn all avuncular and chiding with his partner. It was gesture the younger agent admitted to himself seemed no more than that of a caring, older brother… Artie was the same age as the brother who'd died when Jim wasn't yet two years old, Anthony Andrew, named for both their grandfathers. Jim had never had any trouble with the way Artie instinctively patted his back or grasped his arm, or as now, put one long, strong hand on Jim's shoulder. It was completely brotherly, on Artie's part that much Jim was sure of.

But now, remembering the mirror-images/visions, Jim was badly torn between a desire to pull his shoulder, and himself sternly away from Artie's hand, a desire to soak up the haven that gesture gave him, now as … as always, he realized; and a desire to have Artie change his stance, put both hands on Jim's shoulders, and then … change that comforting, comfortable touch to … an embrace!

And exactly that change, exactly that shift from the profound, brotherly affection Jim knew Artie held him in, held for him, was what he'd seen in Loveless' damned to Perdition gilt edged mirror! He'd seen that change, and a great deal more, with all of it seeming as right, as natural and as certain as daybreak and nightfall. And that was exactly what he couldn't tell, couldn't even imagine explaining to Artemus Gordon! He couldn't tell his partner about these thoughts, these reactions, these startling-familiar wishes, not ever, not outside the not so nightmarish remembrances of those images that still chased him out of sleep these days; as much or more than the terrifying recollections of his 'shooting Artie'.

They **had** put several hundred miles between Jim West and the little doctor's 'asylum'. They were headed back across the country, now, in fact, and thus would soon be thousands of miles away from that madhouse; and all the things that happened there, and all the things that sent Jim West mad enough to be there in the first place. They were being called to report to the President, which duty Jim actively looked forward to meeting at least once a year now. And following that agreeable duty, another, far less welcome one would have both agents, and Dean Richmond appearing before the various Senate and House committees that held legislative and funding authority over the Service.

And if **any **of those political 'monks' up on 'the Hill' got wind of what's rampaging around in your head these days, James, old friend, the soldier agent thought. You'd be out of the Service, and out of Washington entirely as fast as the Secret Service' version of a courts martial could be empanelled, convened, with their verdict and their sentence already a given! Wherever he is right now, in Perdition or not, Loveless must be giggling up a storm at the notion of the storm the mere idea of what I thought I saw… the turmoil it could raise for the Service, the Army, the government and the President!

_I know damn well and good what the Army would do; if I weren't retired from the Regular Army, years ago. They'd cashier my backside right out of there! They don't allow an officer, any officer to have any wishes, dreams or desires **unless and until The Army issues him some!** _**_And _**_they tend to call this sort of wishes, dreams, desires and what is worse acting on those things, **behavior unbecoming an officer!** Guess none of them went to the same prep schools I did. And as I was saying, so much for my Secret Service career, too! _

_I'm very sorry, I'm truly sorry, Mr. President, Sir, you can't have … someone like me as one of your special agents, your chief security advisors. The Democrats and the newspapers would have a field day with it! _

_''Someone like you, James, what in the very devil do you mean by that?'' Jim could hear Ulysses Grant demanding._

_''Sir, it would be almost as much a scandal if I told you. And besides, except as a boy in prep school, I never thought … and, well, that **was** prep school, after all. Since that time, I haven't ever consciously considered that… No, no, that's not exactly true, either, Sir. But it was only when my partner was dying, when I thought Artemus was dying…and **worse**, when I thought I'd shot Artie at point blank range and outright murdered him… Mr. President, that part was in the first report I sent you, sir… You **did** read that report, didn't you, Sir?'' Jim now imagined himself, rather rudely in fact, in a way he wouldn't actually even dream of, asking 'the Man'._

''Yes, yes, of course, James. You were loathsomely drugged, and terribly deceived… mesmerized in a way, you said, to believe that appalling hallucination was real. But of course, anyone who knows you, and your record would never imagine or believe such a thing! Well, what's the rest of this, James? No, my young friend, **I insist** you tell me the whole story behind this suggestion that you must leave not only the Service, but also my administration.'' The President asked, and as Jim West knew from years of experience and observation, it wasn't truly a request.

''Sir, when I … **thought** I was coming out of that… hallucination… when I saw Artemus lying on the floor of that… what seemed like an abandoned stables… or barn, Sir… '' Jim started to say, knowing even without the authority of his office, he could never deny Grant's sternly compassionate questions their rightful answers.

'' When I saw Artemus lying there, Sir, He was … I believed, bleeding out, he was dying… And the revolver was still in my hand… almost as if it were … glued there… I couldn't seem to drop it… I dropped down beside him…

He was barely half conscious… Sir, it was only then, while I believed with all my heart that my partner was dying **at my hand…** It was only when I believed Artemus was lying there, dying, Mr President… that I knew… It was only then, that I knew… only then…'' Jim in the mirror-dream/memory whispered, but couldn't complete the phrase, not now; not to himself watching from outside Loveless' mirror, to the image of Ulysses Grant, or to the image of his partner.

None of the men the mirrored-Jim addressed said or did anything in reaction to this bizarre statement, Jim outside the dream noted. Artie was the picture of blinking astonishment, his dark bright eyes went wide as flying pie plates, his dark eyebrows went climbing towards his thick, coarse, dark brown almost to black hairline, and his broad grin started quirking up at one corner, in the way Jim often claimed to find exasperating. But Jim was absolutely certain that grin was about to give way to full-fledged Gordian rage and loathing, at any second.

''Wait a second! You **only claim** to find my superlative crooked grin exasperating, James m'boy? ''The actor's image in the mirror asked, smiling.

**''Right this minute now**, Artemus, as a matter of fact, I find it and most of your grins and smirks and such completely, completely exasperating! Jim scowled. Damn it, Artie! Artemus, were you **even listening** to the rest of what I … what he… what **somebody** who looks and moves and sounds **a whole heckuva lot like me** just **tried** to tell you? You pay closer attention to what people say than two thirds of the people I know, damn it! You insist you have to do that, so your danged photographic memory can take a picture… or make a record or whatever your danged…''

**''Eidetic** memory, James, **eidetic,** that means it's not just visual, and **that's exactly** the process you're talking about. Artie laughed. "I listen very closely to what's said to me, and around me; and in that way I'm able to give it back almost verbatim. It's an immense help when you're working with people who constantly drop cues, for instance. It also helps with recalcitrant partners who seem to think I'm **not listening** if I'm not **looking right at them. **I heard what you said, Jim. Honest. Do you want me to prove that right this minute; or is there something more you wanted to say, first? For example, **why** do you think I'm about to be enraged at, or worse, loathing what you just told me, especially since you clearly didn't finish whatever you wanted to tell me? ''

''Wh-Why do I?'' Jim scowled again, hearing himself almost stammering.' Because **I can't** run around leaping at conclusions, now can I? You hate that kind of so-called deduction and so do I? I can't … And I can't lie about this any more, since I already said it… And you weren't …you really weren't listening, not this time, were you, Artie?

Never mind, I'm not done making an ass of myself quite yet. You're right about that much, anyway! Artie, I **can't **make the kind of mistake now, as a grown man that it was okay to make in prep school! And it was just barely okay then, anyway! I can't assume things not in evidence, partner! And the evidence I might use for this sort of assumption … wouldn't hold up in court for an instant! It's ridiculous to even think it would, in fact! Just because you are and always will be an actor, just because you love almost everything there is to the theatre, plays, parts, actors, scenery…'' Jim went on.

''Only if I get a **real chance** to chew the latter, James m'boy.'' Artie laughed again, earning another superlative Westian style scowl. '' Oh, sorry, please, go on, partner, I'm fascinated.''

**''Sure you are.** Artie, what I'm trying to say is that I can't make assumptions about you, or draw conclusions either, based solely on the fact that you truly enjoy ballet and opera, not just plays, you love poetry and all kinds of music… and language… and all kinds of languages… It would be just as wrong as assuming you're a penny pincher or a usurer, or … ''

''A Shylock?'' Artie suggested. ''Well, I'd have to agree with you there, Jim. Oops, sorry, interrupted you again; it's always been my major failing… I suppose.''

**''Except** for all the times you interrupted somebody who'd just as soon killed me?'' Jim almost let himself relax and laugh, for a minute. '' Artie, **am I getting through** to you at all here? You like to dress the part … whatever the part happens to be, of course. But you love to dress for dinner, the dovetail morning coats, silk cravats, silk ruffled shirts, expensive suits, opera capes, and top hats… the whole nine yards. You carry it off really well, too.

You would have done really fine as the one of us playing the dandy, the rich man's son; if that hadn't been way too repetitious, or should I say, way too boring for you. And even adding those things to the rest of the list, I still can't just blandly assume that you are some kind of… popinjay. I can't do that, Artie, any more than I could assume you're some kind of roughneck, just because you know danged well how to look and dress and talk and move like a roughneck stevedore, right down to that tatoo. And I wish you **hadn't** got stuck getting that… honest…''

''James, don't be ridiculous! I've grown quite attached to my tattoo, really.'' Artie protested.

_So have I, and to the man it's attached to. But I'm not about to say so, not right now!_ Jim thought

''And besides, it's no more than you would have done in my place, partner. We just happened to run into another band of bad guys who wanted to blacken **your** sterling reputation instead of mine, at the time. Wait, I don't think I've ever **had** a sterling reputation, have I?''

''Only in some quarters, partner. And I'm **still **not finished. But I'll try to pick up the pace so you can have time to laugh, or shout or cuss me out all you want to, after. I'm trying to say I'm wrong, Artie, and I know you hate it when that happens. I mean think about it, I proposed to Lily Fortune for you, Artemus! You were so much… You probably are still so much in love with her you couldn't get the words out… Remember? ''

''Vividly, James, just as vividly as I recall the champagne cork that popped **just when** I was making my own **second** attempt to persuade her, partner.'' Artie laughed, his dark bright eyes twinkling.

''That was… Well, I **thought** that was unintentional. Anyway, she turned you down, Artie and you were crushed and I **thought**… I felt really bad for you… But now, if these dream, this image, this scene in the mirror is … anything close to real…

Artemus, that's what I can't … that's what I'm **not doing** such a very good job of telling or not telling you… And **what** makes me think you'd want to hear it? …**What in the world besides Loveless' mirror makes me even think…much **** less hope… ''**

''Now **there's** an interesting question, James. **What** makes you think I would or wouldn't want to hear whatever this is that you're **driving us both** **crazy**, trying to decide whether you're going to say it? Artie asked him. Just tell me, for the love of G-d, Jim, tell me. It's clearly something you need to say… And true friends, as you told me you learned in prep school, tell each other…''

'' True friends tell each other everything, true friends share everything; except the past, before they met. ''Jim finished the quote from some old Greek text or other. '' All right, all right, I'll make another run at it, Artie. But I know … I do know you were only kidding. You were only plaguing me, trying to provoke my black Irish-Welsh temper, the way you like to … more than almost anything. You'd have that twinkle, almost, but not altogether hidden in your eyes… that laugh… riding just below your voice… So I knew, and I know you **never meant** what I thought you … said or meant … ''

''I don't **suppose** I'm going to be allowed to be the judge of that, at some point in this discussion? I don't suppose you're going to tell me what I said that was really only plaguing you or trying to provoke that infamous Torrance temper? And by the way, I'm not a masochist, James; I have **no wish** to provoke your temper. ''Artie insisted.

''Yeah… I know. Well, all right… Sometimes you'd say… sometimes you still say things like this: ' You know there really ought to be a law, James, about one fellow having as devil-may-care a heart and as handsome a mug as yours'. Jim quoted, giving a fairly decent rendition of the actor's voice. **Or** you'd say, ' You don't need any help with the latest conquest from me, Jim, not with that unstoppable, unfathomable Torrance charm of yours'.

**Or **you'd grin and wink and start to laugh and say: 'You're just too damnably good looking for your own good, James'm'boy…' Or you'd top **all of those** by saying: ''**I'm** clearly the consummate, unsurpassed brains of the outfit, James, while **you're** the heart-stoppingly dazzling brawn' … And you'd say that as if you really believed the second part, and, if it were true, **which its not**; as if there was something I could do about it! ''Jim finished, with something very much like one of Artie's best, most world-weary sighs.

''Bravo! Bravo!'' Artie laughed and applauded, smiling with what seemed honest pleasure and compassion. ''You've gotten **much, much** better at 'me', James m' boy, since the first time you tried that.'' Then the twinkle in his bright, dark eyes quieted a bit, and Artemus studied the younger man as closely as Jim in the mirror and out of it both wished and feared he would. ''Now, let's get to the root of the matter. 'What are **you telling me,** partner?'' Artie asked, his dark eyes wide, his expression still somewhat confused, and Jim knew that he was dreaming this 'conversation'.

'' Are you **sure** you want to know, partner?'' Jim demurred, sighing again.

'' I'm sure you've got my curiosity piqued, to say the least!'' Artie laughed, and the warming, booming sound was like an audible hug.

'' Well, it's like this, Artie… As it turns out, you're not the most gifted grifter, or con artist or swindler on Mac's team. You're not the preeminent liar, the finest imposter **or **the greatest actor in the Service, either.''

''Oh, **really**, James?'' the actor asked, frowning; but in the way that told Jim Artie suspected a trick or gag of some kind. '' And just **who **do you imagine is better at all those things than yours truly?''

Taking a deep breath, and turning away for a moment, Jim turned back and answered ''**Yours**, truly.'' pointing to himself.


	4. Chapter 4

SCENE FOUR

Now Artie roared with laughter and the sound was both very welcome, because it had been a while since he heard it, and sad to Jim, because he was only dreaming it.

When Artie stopped laughing, and was breathing deep himself, wiping at his eyes, he turned those flashing dark-bright eyes on Jim and shook his head like a father would at his little boy for fibbing. '' Nice gag, there, Jim, but, sorry, no sale.'' Artie said. ''Sorry, you just didn't draw it out long enough to go over as a con. You're still no match for…''

'' The Master, I know, Artie. I know. But you still haven't asked why I'd say I … why I'd say that at all?'' Jim told him.

'' Because you like to make me laugh so hard it almost hurts?'' Artemus guessed.

''Well, I do. But that wasn't the reason, this time.'' Jim shook his head, sighing at the way this was going.

''All right. So now you are going to draw this out some more. Okay, you said all that because you want to get out of going to that new production of 'Faust' I've been talking your ears off about?'' Artie guessed, still grinning in the knowing way Jim had always wished he could memorize.

'' Nope.'' Jim shook his head, again.

''You **want **to go with me to see that new production of 'Faust'?'' Artie offered.

''Nope.'' Another head shaking.

'' You've got Jere or Frank, or both of them, stashed in the next room and they bet you twenty dollars cold, hard cash you **couldn't** scam me?'' the former actor demanded.

'' No. But thanks, Artie, I'll have to try that, sometime. Give up, yet?'' Jim asked.

'' Why, isn't this another session of twenty questions?'' Jim's partner asked in turn.

'' I didn't think it would take as many as that, partner, so no, again.'' West told him.

''You have a low, wicked, appalling and depraved mind, James, and you've got some lovely young thing, eagerly waiting for you across town. So you need to get me mad enough to forget we were going to that new production of 'Faust'?'' Artie suggested, laughing.

''Yes to the first part, no to the second, and maybe, but not really to the third. I … like watching you watch a play, Artie. You're like a kid with a new toy when you do that; a little kid, who wants to see every bit of it, and then take it apart to find out how it works.'' Jim answered.

''Oh, I'm fun to watch, am I? Well **so are you**, sometimes, partner. Like now, when you're almost working up a sweat trying to play some sort of shell game with the guy who practically invented that noble, early form of … commerce.'' Artemus told him, peering at Jim as if the younger man had suddenly turned purple.

''Commerce, Artie?'' Jim laughed. '' I like that. I do. But you're getting kind of off the track here. Don't you want to know what I'm really talking about?''

'' Well, all right. What on earth makes you think you're better at all those things than I am, James?'' Artie demanded.

'' Because, I **am**. Because I've worked all these years to make sure that you don't find out, that you didn't know, and that n-nobody in the Service, or the Army or my family kn-knows… th-that I … '' Jim sighed and made a deep study of his boot tips for another moment, profoundly chagrined to hear his boyhood stutter coming back. '' That I love you.''

''Well, Jim, I'm … you're like a brother to me, too!'' the actor exclaimed. ''But, thanks, it's always nice to …''

'' No, no, not a brother, Artemus. You didn't hear what I was saying, then.'' Jim insisted, even if this was no more than a dream, it was his dream and it might be the only way he could ever make this 'confession'. '' I said 'l love you'. I don't **like **the way you watch a play that was another lie. I …I love it. I don't just **like** the way you're as open and curious as a child about … everything you come across. I love that, too.

I love the way you put all the force of your gaze…your incredibly compelling gaze, on one face or form, or object. I love the way you drink in everything and everyone around you. I love the way you can concentrate at will, every drop of energy in your whole, entire frame on … whatever or whoever you want to catch and hold in … your eyes, your dark, bright eyes.''

''Jim, '' the actor said very, very quietly now, in this dream.

''Artie, I've gotten this started now, and I don't think I'll be able to … start up again, if I stop… And I can't. I have to… I have to tell you… That I love, so very much how you can create an intensity of purpose so strong it can be felt a city block, a half mile, or a few leagues, if not farther away. And all of that doesn't even go into how much I love the way you can … move down a flight of stairs, or across a ball room or a barroom as silently and swiftly, and seemingly lazily, as a wildcat, when you decide to, when you need to… when I need you to…

I love the way you use your incredibly, powerfully eloquent hands to make a whole room, a whole theatre, a whole town square full of gents or rubes, of swells or society grand dames, nearly swoon with a gesture … of pure desolation or determination …of out-and-out despondency or… desire… I love the way you can pull a quote from Shakespeare, or Marlowe, or Caesar's Gallic Wars, or Herodotus' … or Homer, or … more writers than I could list in a month of Sundays, as if out of thin air and have it be just the one that fits that moment… I love the way you made an impetuous, rigid, damn fool of a Regular Army regs-quoting martinet begin to ease up and act like a human being… And l love … the way you embrace a friend… and just… fill up all their empty spaces and lonely corners and hidden places with your own fierce, fiery warmth.

And I love that you've trusted me enough for … all this time to tell me about your ima, and when she got sick and died because she'd been nursing half the kids in the tenements around where you lived, and that she wanted you to be a rabbi, but you wanted to be a cantor, and you … were barred from being either one… And I'm grateful and I love that you trusted me enough to tell me you were named for an uncle who was still in Grodek, and a cousin who was in living in the City before your grandparents, your ima and your Aunt Miri arrived, so you were named Adamech Elisha Auriel… Gorniak, when you were circumcised…

I love all those things, and I love **you**, Artemus Alastair Lachlan Gordon, And Artemus, I … I need you to … hold still now… Just, you know, hold still… there's something … there's something I need… I want to do… **please,** don't… say a damn word, right now… okay? I can't… do this if you're talking… ''

Artie opened his mouth to answer and then something that Jim in the dream could see in his dark, bright eyes, shifted and understood what Jim was asking. The older man drew a deep breath, giving Jim one of his trademark world-weary sighs.

Jim put one hand on each of Artemus's strong shoulders and trying not to break the mood with his own nervous laughter or bad jokes, slid across the chaise he was sleeping on, close and still closer to his partner. Their eyes were locked now, until Jim cocked his head to one side and inched his way to press his mouth against Artemus's.

The whole mirror dream was feeling more and more real, and Jim thought briefly, while tasting the actor's honeyed-wine mouth, that he should be worried about that. This was something he'd never imagined doing, Jim started to think, and then he knew he was wrong about that, too. Because now Jim knew he'd felt this longing when they first met, without recognizing or understanding it. He'd felt it whenever he walked past as the actor agent was intently studying/observing someone, anyone… With all the strength and all the hunger and all the longing of that memory and so many others now crowding his thoughts, Jim held on, held close and held fast while he kissed Artemus as deeply as he knew how.

Drawing a shaky breath, Jim only broke the kiss because his dreaming mind was alive with fear that the older man would be repulsed, no matter what Artemus said. But Artie said nothing at all for such a long moment after the younger man drew away from their kiss that Jim began to be afraid all over again. The actor was just drawing a deep breath, the soldier-agent guessed, to lambaste him, but good! This started out as just a strange, perhaps a partly left over hallucination sort of dream. Now it was drifting, no, now it was flowing swiftly in the direction of a genuine nightmare. And still Jim West wasn't sure whether or not he truly wanted to look away, much less wake up.

'' Artie, ''Jim finally said very quietly. ''Artemus, 'm sorry…well there it is, out in the open… Your partner… your no doubt soon to be former partner's … an… invert… I'm … an invert… who just happens to have tripped headfirst, heart first, rather, over the realization that he … that I … love you, Artemus. Well, all right, all right! There's your cue to run the other way, or shout, or curse me out, or knock me on my backside! I shouldn't have … **ever**… said … or done … **any** of that…you couldn't, **you wouldn't ever**… want anything of the kind from… from me! Ah G-d, I'm an idiot!

No, no, I'm worse than an idiot! I'm … a bloody fool! **I am. **Because right now, right this minute; I still want you to hold…I need you to hold me… Artemus, again, close… And that … scares th' blue blazes out of me, Artie. But it doesn't scare me **nearly as much** as you, going quiet … like you just did. So, no matter what you need to say… to me, now… Say **something,** **please,** Artemus.''


	5. Chapter 5

SCENE FIVE

"Something, please, Artemus." Gordon joked, and immediately grew somber. '' I'm sorry, Jim. That just … that was uncalled-for, really. And since you've nearly talked yourself hoarse, relax, a minute and let me take my turn, all right?''

''Yeah, sure.'' Jim nodded, not really sure of anything, except that he didn't' want Artie to shout or curse or leave. Especially, more than anything he didn't want Artie to leave.

''Your throat must be almost raw, Jim. Drink some of this … No; I'm not dosing you, partner, not just yet, anyway, I promise. '' Artie said, handing the younger man a cup of broth. And as tired as he felt after all his talking, Jim wasn't exactly sure if this was still part of the mirror dream, or if Artie had come into his cabin hearing him exclaim in his sleep, again. So, Jim drank the broth slowly; glad to have something to do with his hands and his mouth right now.

'All right, just take it easy, partner.'' Artemus urged the younger man. ''And take your turn at listening, all right, Jim, even if what I'm starting out saying isn't anything you've ever liked hearing. In a nutshell, I'm saying **you're wrong,** James. Okay that's the part I said you wouldn't like.

Here's the rest: You're saying I couldn't **and worse, I** **wouldn't **want to hear what you just, **finally** told me; and that I **couldn't** **and worse,** I wouldn't answer the need, the desire and the love you just handed me on a silver platter, wish for wish, word for word and deed for deed. You're wrong, again, Jim. Except I know you don't really believe that. Because if you did, if you truly believed that of me; you wouldn't even know me, partner. And you do. James, you know me better than anyone except maybe my grandmother Rifka, may her memory be for a blessing. And I know you. I think I know you pretty much as well.

Moreover, I know how we both were raised. And this groundless, shameful fear, this profound reluctance to tell the truth of a man's heart; that just **feeds** one part of a whole collection of ugly, small minded ideas. This one's the idea that there's something wrong, something overwhelmingly wrong when two people who **aren't** blood kin, or who aren't opposite genders, especially two men, have any real affection for one another; and worse yet, much worse, if we acknowledge that affection, that love, and we show it.

And **that **is the real heartbreak, in my mind. Because, my friend, what you need to hear, and to believe completely, coming from me right now, I believe is just this**: I looked in the small** **doctor's mirror too, Jim.** Only the thing is, what you **really need to know, right this minute now,** James, is that **I didn't need **to look into Loveless 'magic mirror' to see, to understand this about myself. And that's how I know I'm the real idiot here, **not you**, Jim. And I'm …until now; I have been an utter coward. That's at an end, now, I promise. So listen up…

I love you, James. I love you more than I've ever had the courage to say, before now. You're the bravest man I know, partner, and **not just because** you willingly, no, cheerfully take outrageously mad chances no sane man would ever take, either. I love your wit, and the way your laughter crackles like lightning, and lights your face, and lights your eyes… I'll get back to your wit, and your face and your laughter.

Right now I'm going to tell you how much l love those bright green Torrance-Randolph eyes of yours! They're incredible eyes, James, simply incredible… And not just because they can shift color so easily, from their native green as grass to a stormy grey green, to a deep grey, to an amazing sunlit grey-blue; but because they show so much of the quicksilver mind behind them! I've yet to figure out just how **one **pair of eyes can do that many 'costume changes' so speedily… I only know it's always a tremendous pleasure watching them change, watching them dance with humor, even, yes, sometimes watching them growing pensive or stormy.

You may try, and I think you may even feel like you need to hide that razor sharp mentality under your extremely handsome bushel basket, my friend. But you can't, not entirely. Sorry, partner. You couldn't have **survived **West Point, much less come out 12th of 45 in the May '61 class, James, if you didn't' have the kind of brilliance the Academy demands of all it's Corps. And even if I didn't know that about your training… I could make a list as long as the parade ground up there of the times and the ways you've **thought **your way out of trouble.''

''Yeah, but Artie, those were **mostly** the times when I'd walked or run or marched or jumped into **that same** trouble. Jim protested, still stunned by the actor's assertions.

''Shush! This is my turn, remember?'' Artemus growled.

''Oh, yes, Sir! Sorry, General Gordon, Sir!'' Jim actually laughed, seeing some of the surprise and relief he felt in the actor's bright, dark gaze.

''That's more like it!'' Artie laughed right back. ''Now, what did I leave off that first laundry list? Oh, yeah, your build! You really don't need my compliments on that, do you? I mean you keep in tiptop, really splendid shape, of course.

I'll admit I've always admired the effort you put into keeping your … ummm… shape, James. I've admired the results of that effort, even more… Do you really need me to tell you … Well, yes, I think maybe you actually do need someone who loves you to say this. You have a fantastic frame, my friend, terrifically strong legs, on which I know you've always been a champion footracer. You own an amazing set of abs, and believe me, I know, from painful experience just how solid you've built them up to be.

Also, the way I've always understood it, from my many long talks with your cousins Jeanny, Paul and Robby, you got your taut natural boxer's build from your father's father, who was foreman in a Welsh coalmine as a lad, as was his father, and his and … so forth. And you got your … what did Vautrain call them… your marvelously made, finely chiseled features from your namesake uncle James Torrance Randolph, who got them from his namesake uncle Jaimey, who … well, you get the idea. But I'm reliably informed that what seems to be the slightly black Irish cast to your face, that finely formed tilt to the tip of your nose, for example, is **actually** the legacy of your Welsh grandmother. ''

''And **we all know** the Welsh and the Irish fought each other for centuries, if not millenia." Jim agreed, feeling an odd urge to laugh again. "So they never intermarried, much less interbred, not on that side of the Pond, anyway. ''

''Yeah, right. That's like saying **none** of my Polish ancestors **ever** interbred or intermarried with any Magyars, Austrians, Slovenians, Bavarians, Serbs or Cossacks! And you interrupted me again, James, that's **got** to be good for at least ten demerits, Plebe! ''Artie laughed back. ''Now, lastly for this part of the lesson; and for the sake of brevity I'm only gonna say this, that backside of yours; the one you expected me to knock you onto, James m'boy is … a truly fine one.''

'' A truly fine one, Artie?'' Jim asked, his eyebrows quirking a bit worriedly, now.

''That's what I said. But we can get back to that, and I fully intend we shall. Stop frowning as if I said it weren't … fine, and **stop** interrupting.'' Artemus insisted, swallowing his own urge to chuckle.

''Oh, yeah… sorry, Artie.'' Jim nodded, looking, if anything less than sorry but more apprehensive than ever.

''**Sure** you are.'' Artie shook his head and went back to his 'text'. '' Now, the next thing on the list is your humor but I have to preface that by making mention of your temper; both of which I admire, for what you might guess are widely differing reasons.

Your temperament, I'm reliably informed is very much like your late mother's was; serene as a lakeside in summer on the surface, and boisterous as a hurricane boiling up the coast in winter, underneath. And the former certainly draws a great deal of its strength from the latter, but also, I believe the reverse holds just as true. You have a way, is what I'm saying, James, of calmly, quietly concentrating all that intensity on whatever currently demands your attention… and only unleashing it when it's most needed, or … if somebody has the nerve and the luck, to draw blood in a fistfight with you.''

''I kinda do tend to take that personally, yeah. Oops, sorry!'' Jim laughed.

''You should be.'' Artie growled, but his dark bright eyes were twinkling. '' As I was saying, your temper, when you let it show, is like Anne Randolph West's and like her father, Andrew Randolph's, too: It's a slow burn but a fierce one when you get going, and it doesn't last much after a fight or a case is over. And I can tell you, James, especially at this moment, I really do appreciate the fact that you don't hold onto your anger or your temper… Because, right now I'm thinking you have every right to be furious with me for keeping all this to myself… all this while. And I have to add here that I do love the way your anger mainly comes out in the cause of the underdog, the ones who can't fight the bad guys, or who've tried and lost that fight.

That shows your truly vast compassion vividly, Jim, and it's something you never take credit for having. You care more about people who need your help, our help than most other agents we know care about their families or their pensions! That surprised me about you, just at first, until I realized the elements of your makeup and the role models you take it from.

No one I've ever known has your wry, self-deprecating sense of proportion, sense of self, and sense of humor, except for your father, and the President. And you've followed their lead in that very well, whether you knew you were doing that, or not, my friend. This I know, from meeting Stephen West myself, some years back. You have his way of laughing, too, James, that dry, sort of, '_don't pay me any mind'_ kind of chuckling…unless or until something flat out astonishes you into laughing out loud. And that gets one of the warmest laughs I've ever heard… No, no, the warmest.

And another thing about the way your mind works… which as I already said is very well indeed… I love the sheer, silent determination you clearly inherited from your father and his father. Nothing I know of, nothing and no one I've ever seen, James, has been able to move you from any goal you set, or any path you decided to take, not for any significant length of time.

You get this look about you, that, as long as I know it's not aimed at me, I truly love to watch: You frown a bit, you cock your head, and you tend to squint at whatever or whoever has your attention, and pull the whole lower half of your face so taut it looks like a well placed fist could crack it. But nothing can… Your mouth goes taut as a guy-wire; your nose turns down… And you're usually fully engaged with the enemy in the next ten to twenty seconds… so fast, really they hardly know what hit them until they're flattened. But **I** know, it was that 'Hurricane James' I mentioned a while back.

But there are things about you that still surprise me, Jim, I'm glad to say. You're certainly never going to be described as boring, partner. Tonight, for instance, you've shown me the huge courage I've always known you to have, but at the same time, and this may be another legacy from your father… You've shown me, as never before… your shyness, your introverted side. And yes, **I meant** introverted. You pushed past it, you climbed over that stone capped redoubt, my friend, but it's still there, behind you… I suspect, just in case I proved a total boor.

And speaking of your tendency towards shyness… it shows up again whenever someone tries to commend, much less reward you, Jim. You learned that and your native candor from any number of mentors, Stephen West, Dean Richmond and President Grant, of course most of all, but it's still your own. But that one thing, that stubborn avoidance of praise or commendations… that's maybe something you should think about losing, Jim. I don't intend to have my compliments to my … best friend, from here on out, anymore than my criticisms, blandly ignored, is that clear?''

''Oh, crystal clear.'' Jim half grinned, and seemed about to expand on his answer, when Artie glowered at him. ''Sorry, please, do go on. My ego could obviously use the boosting you're delivering, Artie.''

''So be quiet, will you? Now, where was I, oh, yeah, I almost forgot to say; I don't really care **which **of your ancestors donated the separate elements of my friend James Torrance Kiernan West; because I happen to love the **whole **package! I love you, Jim, and I wish I'd found myself able to say so, a lot sooner. But there it is. ''Artie stopped and sighed. But he was smiling, in the way that always felt like a visual embrace to Jim.

''So, no, I'm not shouting, not cursing, not knocking you on your keester, James. And I'm not running in any direction, partner, not unless it's trying to keep up with you. What did I leave out this time? Oh, yes, your admiration for my hard earned skills, except for the memorization that I've never really been able to keep from doing. Oh, yes. You love my literary acumen? Well, before we hand me that PARTICULAR laurel crown, answer me this, partner: **Who **wrote: 'One inhabits with a full heart, an empty world.' AND: "one only truly describes one's own heart by attributing it to another, and the greater part of genius is composed of memories.' ''

''Francois-Rene, vicomte de Chateaubriand, French poet, diplomat and politician, considered the founder of Romanticism in French literature.'' Jim rattled off, shaking his head at the actor. ''And Artemus, you **know** I only memorized that, years ago… to impress the daughter of one of my prep school French professors. ''

''But you still remember **all that** about l' vicomte, after all the water that's gone under that particular bridge? What about the other French Romanticists? What about the writers and artists who agreed with, who followed Chateaubriand? Can you still rattle off that list? And if you can, doesn't that show you have just about as strong a memory as I do?'' Artie insisted.

''I don't think so, partner.'' Jim sighed. ''But here goes anyway: Alexandre Dumas, pere, Theophile Gautier, Victor Hugo, who, by the way, wrote in a schoolbook when he was fifteen 'I will be Chateaubriand, or nothing!', and George Sand, Alfred de Musset, Charles Nodier, Alfred de Vigny, Honore Balzac, Stendahl, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Alphonse de Lamartine, Charles-Valentin Alkan, Eugenie Emmanuel Viollet-le-Duc, Hector Berlioz, Georges Bizet, Theodore Gericault, and among others, Eugene Delacroix; novelists, painters, composers and philosophers. I have a fairly decent memory; I worked on it, constantly. I had to, to get through all those danged prep schools much less, **to even try for West Point!** ''

'' **What** did I just get done saying about your stubborness? And your problems with taking an direct compliment, not to mention a direct order?'' Artie laughed aloud, the sound, booming and rich and warm embracing the younger man.

''No, no, that **wasn't** me, **that **was George Custer who never could follow orders. Jim chuckled.'' If he could have only done **that one thing**, he might have turned that brevet- promotion to General into a permanent one!'' Jim laughed back, wondering why he hearing Artemus' and his own voice so much clearer, now.

''And you're interrupting **again.** I was trying to make a point here… what was it? Oh, yeah. Obviously I'm **not always** up to the role of consummate, insightful unparalleled brains of this outfit. If I were, I would have sat you down for this specific little talk some years ago. And believe me, James, hearing you step up and broach this with me, hearing you talk about the way you came to this new understanding, I wish I'd done **just that**. Instead, I made all sorts of excuses, that you'd lose your career, your reputation, and that **'fat'** Regular Army pension. But I was afraid I was the one who'd really lose if I said anything I was… afraid I'd lose even your friendship…I was afraid I'd lose … you.'' Artemus said softly, turning his eyes away, leaving Jim no doubt that he meant every word.

''Artie, stop. I was a newly minted, inflexible, walking Regs-book of a First Lieutenant when we first met. I was damn proud of getting promoted to First between graduating in May and October that year. I didn't really consider that the Army kinda needed as many Seconds and Firsts as they could lay their hands on back then! And I was damn sure I'd grow up to be one of those boy generals, and probably win the War single-handed, in no time flat, too. And you've **never **been especially attracted to the brass; I know that, much less to empty headed, spit and polish martinets. **I** don't even like who I was, back then, why should you?'' Jim shrugged and fell quiet, watching and waiting for Artemus's response.

''You were a … Well, let's just say you were a lot younger at the time, James. **Why else ** do you think I started jibing you by calling you James m'boy all the time?'' Artie asked, and Jim was glad to find his partner looking him in the eye, again.


	6. Chapter 6

SCENE SIX

''I was a **kid**.'' Jim smiled and shook his head. '' I was a highly educated, finely trained, and therefore **all that much more** dangerous kid in an officer's uniform. And I was touchy as all get out about being a West Pointer. A lot of us were, back in those days. And I was lucky enough to get partnered with people who could make good use of my skills and **still **keep me from getting whole battalions from being blown to bits or chopped up like Thanksgiving turkeys! And I just realized you said you looked in Loveless' mirror! **ARTEMUS! YOU LOOKED IN THAT BLASTED GILT EDGED MIRROR?'' **

'' I did, and I'll get back to that, in a moment. You were… all right; you **were **a tad bit stiff back in the first months… that first autumn of the War. But that was a long while ago.And I'd say you've just made it pretty clear to yourself, and to me; that you're not that automaton any more, not the fellow Loveless used to label a tin man. If I underestimated you, James, and I know I likely did, just at first back in the day; then in my own defense I have to add that the small doctor understood Jim West far, far less well than he believed he did. ''

''Artie, he understood how to scare the living daylights right out of me, and pretty damn well.'' Jim admitted and shuddered.

''Did he? I don't believe that, my friend. How many seconds did it take you to cop to what the 'good doctor' tried to do? Ten, maybe fifteen, maybe twenty seconds after I got there, you knew good and well what Loveless wanted **and what he didn't get!** **He** looked in his mirror and saw his 'world conquest', his world making. Well, do you see any worlds he conquered around here anywhere?'' Artemus said, and once more laid a comforting hand on each of Jim's shoulders.

''Nope, not around here. Artie, you said you looked in the 'good doctor's' mirror. So… **what** did you see?'' Jim asked, beginning to wonder if he should have relaxed, after all.

Now Artemus grinned as wide as the Golden Gate he was born next to and shook his head at the reemerging worry in his partner's bright eyes. '' Well, if you must know, the first thing I saw was hardly surprising. I saw myself running a long-established, very well funded production company, in the midst of it's own Shakespeare festival, with a little Moliere, some Racine, Euripides, Aeschylus, the other Greeks, and a fortnight's run of _Cyrano_, just for a twist. I'd usually finish out the shows with some music; cello, flute, and spinet or, of course, my own violin concertos.

And then, a little more interestingly, I saw myself aging gracefully into the role of Secret Service Director… just going from one directing job to another, I guess you might say. I was also taking some time each semester to teach the new kids at the Service Academy some working Chemistry and Physics, a smattering of Calculus and a smidgen of Yiddish, Polish, Spanish, French, Norwegian, Dutch, Portuguese, Italian and various dialects of German, Cherokee, Kiowa… Lakota, Blackfoot, Arapaho, Comanche and Cheyenne. You know, just the basics, really… nothing much. You were there too, teaching Tactics and Rules of Engagement, the Manual of Arms, and Armaments, Artillery, Cavalry and Encryption, all **your** favorites, James.''

''All my favorites, right.'' Jim said forlornly. ''**That's** what you saw… acting, directing, **Directing **and teaching… ''

''Well, yes…'' Artie said, and then suddenly, as Jim half turned away, heard himself. ''No! Jim, that's only the beginning, the first part of what **I** saw in that mirror. That is, those two things were only the background for the … rest. Jim, weren't **you** even listening? I said I love you, and I do. I said I wish I'd told you this much, much sooner. And that's true as well. And I said that my loving you has **little or nothing** to do with any so called magic mirrors. **And neither does you telling me what you've told me tonight. ''**

''Oh, and just what makes you … well of course it doesn't!'' Jim frowned as he followed Artie's own special brand of logic, if only at several paces back. '' I said I love you. That's the G-d's honest truth. And I said I only realized that's so when I thought **I murdered you**, Artie! And I only saw myself telling you **any of this** when I looked in the danged doctor's danged mirror! **So how can you say the one has nothing to do with the other?''**

**'**'Well for two reasons, first, because the danged doctor's danged mirror **doesn't exist** any longer, Jim. ''

''You broke the mirror? Artemus, that huge, **that gigantic mirror**? Don't tell me you broke it… that's got to be seven times seventy years bad luck!'''

'' I didn't break it and I didn't ask anyone else to break it. I had that wonderful, dangerous device buried… or drowned, really, in the damn lake, right alongside the 'good doctor'. '' Artie said, shaking his head at the younger agent. ''G-d only knows what someone a great deal more credulous than you or I would do about whatever they might have seen in the infernal thing! And now, with that settled, or at least buried, I'll answer your other question: It wasn't the mirror that got you to realize you love me, isn't that so? Isn't that what you just said?''

''Yeah.'' Jim nodded, still looking a bit worried, because he was a bit worried.

'' No, it was the shock the doctor put you through, just for the fun of torturing his nemesis and testing his damnable compound all at the same time. Well, James, I'd know that was how and when you figured this out because **that **was **how** I figured it out, for myself. Do you remember when we were penned up inside Knoxville, in '63, with your old 9th Corps and my 22nd Illinois?''

''Well, it wasn't **my** old 9th Corps, Artemus. It was the Army of the Potomac's, on detached duty. But yeah, I remember. It was damned embarrassing. I'd just lost my brevet-Major rank, that I got at Antietam, was back down to Captain. And on top of all that, **and** the Corps being shipped off to Tennessee, not long after Fredericksburg and the danged 'Mud March'; I got sick as a dog and spent most of that winter flat on my back!'' Jim sighed.

''You nearly died of asthmatic bronchitis, that winter, as a matter of fact.'' Artemus said, earning himself Jim's full attention again. ''In fact, another couple of days being stuck there, with all our supplies running thin, and it could have turned into bronchial pneumonia, Jim. And that would have pretty much been that. ''

'' And that's when, that's how you figured this out?'' Jim demanded. ''Wait, Artemus, what was the second reason… your second reason for not blaming the mirror?''

''Well, because, if the mirror was actually the only source of your self-admission, you would have forgotten all about it, once you were away from the device. And yet, here you are, James, a good twelve hundred or more miles away from that fake asylum of Loveless… And here you stand, openly, honestly and like I said, damned courageously telling your partner how you really feel towards him. A lesser man would have kept quiet. I know, because **that's** just exactly…''

''Artemus, **stop.**'' Jim said shaking his head and putting one hand on each of the actor's strong arms. ''Stop that. That's not so. You said yourself; you were keeping in mind what this could do to my career in the Service, and you **should have had ** it in mind what it could do to yours. You said you didn't want me to lose my pension. Well, as fat as it **isn't ever** going to be, you could still lose yours, from the Service.

And then there's the supposed risk to my reputation, although I have to wonder **which** one you meant: Jim West, fearless federal copper? James West, irresponsible playboy of the Secret Service? James Torrance Kiernan West, world famous American womanizer? I'm surely not much of a loss in any of those categories, if you ask me, **nothing compared** to losing … losing you. And if **you** think that sounds strange coming from me, just imagine how strange **I** think it sounds, coming from … yours truly. ''

''I think it sounds new, coming from my partner. But frankly, no, not so strange.'' Artie said. And Jim was badly confused, now because the actor was relaxed and smiling again, shaking his head at the younger man.

'' Artie, what the devil?'' Jim asked, frowning.

''No, not the devil, Jim, that's not you. Not that I think you're some kind of angel, either. But I have to say, on further consideration, I shouldn't have been even a little bit surprised, and I **was**.'' Artemus told him, shrugging.

''You were surprised. But you shouldn't have been? Artie, you're losing me, here.'' Jim protested. ''Are you saying you nearly guessed? … Are you saying I was … giving out signs?''

'' Nothing that transparent, Jim, no. You would certainly never strike most men, or women as feeling anything more than friendship for any other man. But when I start thinking about how many lovely, eager young things you've left behind. And I can hardly think of a time when **either you**, **or any** of those lovelies especially minded the leaving or the being left behind. Can you? Add to that the enormous quantity and variety of female 'kissin' cousins' in your extended family; no small number of whom have laid their various traps and activated their sundry feminine wiles in pursuit of an eligible young male they're **already friends** with…

Let me think, there's Sarah Beth Ashton… Gilly Munroe, Mickie Ashford, Caroline Horton, Alys Brady, Eugenie Reid, Isabelle Roberts, Lisbeth Morrison, Celia Traherne, Cathy Kuenle, and Megan Singer… to which condensed list I'd have to add dozens of Morrissey, Randolph, Monroe, Mahoney, Torrance, Cleary, Kiernan, West and Howlys cousins from Silver Spring down to San Antonio, and from Norfolk to Chattanooga at the very least! You've spent most of your life in a wide open marriage market, James, and yet, I've never heard of a single engagement… not one. ''

''Then you missed one. Gilly Munroe and I were engaged, years and years ago.'' Jim said, trying to argue the point and keep a straight face… and not succeeding at either. '' We pledged our undying love and devotion to each other; at her sister Detsy's wedding rehearsal dinner! Naturally, both our families were elated.''

''Uh huh?'' Artie chuckled. '' And you and Gillian got married… when?''

''Well, we didn't. We couldn't, not after she betrayed her promise to me.'' Jim insisted, fighting the urge to laugh himself. '' Not even two days later, Gilly'd gotten engaged to at least three others of our boy-cousins… Naturally, both our families were devastated. And so was I, well until I got engaged to at least two others of our girl-cousins. Gilly finally married one of those other boys, Michael Spencer… a few years ago. But she still knows she badly broke my heart.''

''Uh huh.'' Artie repeated. ''And all that happened when you two were **how old**, James?''

''Ummm… well, let me think… '' Jim hedged, suddenly remembering that he'd told this story before.

''You were a fine, towheaded catch of a young Upper South bachelor at age six and a half. And Gillian herself was in great danger of becoming a spinster, since she was nearly eight years old at the time! Gillian as it happens **did** tell me that story. Now you tell me, James, have you **always** preferred **older** women?'' Artie started to chortle and in another moment both men were laughing aloud.

''Always.'' Jim finally nodded. '' They just seemed… more knowledgeable. And I used to feel the same way with younger women that I feel right this minute, now. I used to feel like I didn't know which way to step next, or what to say, **much less what ****to do.** I feel like a blushing schoolgirl must feel, in fact… wondering how I had the nerve to kiss … the best looking fellow in the room… much less talk to him this way!''

''You've never lacked for nerve, Jim. Or at least you've always been more than capable of projecting that image. And you're doing just fine, as far as I'm concerned. But if I can help… And I think maybe I can… I will, with all my heart, and in a heartbeat, James. I will, if you so much as say the word.'' Artemus promised

"I don't… Artemus, I'm not sure I know the word to say…" Jim sighed, shaking his head mournfully.

"Well, let that go for a minute and try for once, **just this once,** partner to listen to me." the former actor insited.

"Yeah. **Just this once**, though." Jim half smiled.

"Yeah. James, sure. All right, here goes. Jim, We're talking about ideas that are …well, frightening …to most people, because they 're …out of the ordinary, in some ways. And we're talking about the way we were both raised to, well, to reject them, out of hand. But why? Because the basic ideas of one culture clashed so badly with those of another that they had to be …demonized, they had to be…damned? Because people, living a few thousand years ago decided to write down what they believed was the proper, the lawful way to live, the path we walk on, for my people, anyway, and because that path deliberately and resolutely excluded the ways of "the nations' around us?

Or is it because the people, who made those writings and brought them together, just didn't understand or agree that love is love no matter where it comes from or how it reaches us? Because the whole world was so different in some ways, a few thousand years ago, and so much the same, that these old, old ideas, which my people call Torah and Mishnah, Talmud and Halachah, still have a hold a strong hold on the way we think and feel and look at the world. And I am not saying all of that is wrong by any means.

But I am saying that laws that put up walls between people…laws that build barriers instead of bridges even between the best of friends, need to be looked at, need to be examined and maybe some of them need to be understood as belonging to the past, not the present, and not the future. I'm not a Rabbi, James I… grew up knowing that according to those same laws, I never could be a rabbi or what I wanted more, a cantor.

But the best Rabbis I've known, the most insightful, the most discerning, were not willing to leave the interpretation of our Laws to those Sages, No, these teachers saw that the interpretations had to and do go on, into our time, into all time. They taught me a lot. But especially my friend, they taught me that we are obligated to use our minds, and most especially obligated to use our G-d given intelligence to try to understand Adonai, His world, His gifts, our place with Him, our connection to Him, and His love for us.

The harm, the doubt, the pain we've been talking about doesn't come from love, Jim, not from any kind of love at all. It couldn't, possibly. It comes from ignorance, it comes from tunnel vision, and it comes from hatred. And, and my friend all of those things only spring from one source: Fear. And fear, my friend is the Oldest and the strongest barrier between people in the world. It divides us more powerfully than any walls, it separates us more absolutely than the oceans or the winds or the seasons. It keeps our minds and hearts and souls isolated from each other, and from others. And it kills. It kills people, But worse, much, much worse than that, my friend, fear kills our dreams, our spirits, our hearts…maybe even our souls. It's hands down the deadliest emotion we have, even though some folks seems to think that in the bad, old days, it was what kept us alive.'' Artie stopped and went quiet, watching his partner again.

Jim looked again at his partner's wearily smiling face and nodded. He could and he had to deal with the fear that seemed now to be feeding and feeding on his nightmares. And in the dream, Jim knew he had to take the next step, though even conceiving of it made him feel panicked and claustrophobic. Artemus was right. There was another step to take. And it was trust. It was exactly the kind of strong, living, closely binding trust they had been talking about And fear was the bond breaker, the only force strong enough to so much as strain that trust: fear of loss, fear of loneliness, fear of ridicule, fear of heartbreak, fear of another denial, another rejection, another defeat in the oldest campaign of all, the war for the human heart.

And now Jim understood, looking into Artemus's bright dark eyes, that all the words in the world, no matter how kind, no matter how comforting, couldn't answer the need he had now. Artemus could, but Jim had to open the door for him. Jim had to show Artemus that level of trust, as his grown self, at long last, despite, and maybe, Jim thought, because of what he'd felt as a breach of trust on Artemus's part, three years ago in Boston.

Shaking with an onslaught of adrenalin, biting his lower lip in a long time nervous habit, Jim first sat back, and then reached strongly, firmly to pull Artemus into his embrace. Artemus seemed so real, so alive and so welcoming in what had to be a very, very good dream… Jim knew that even if this was some illusory time and place, as Artie assured him it was not, he had to take that trusting next step. He had to show Artemus **his **absolute trust. And maybe, by doing that, he'd begin setting to rights a whole laundry list of things that had gone wrong, until now. And now, looking again at the actor, Jim was sure as daybreak and nightfall that he knew where to start, or more nearly, how to start again.


	7. Chapter 7

SCENE SEVEN

''Artemus, I **am** scared, I'm terrified, in fact, But it's nothing to do with you, you are helping me so damn well, so much… It's me… I know what I want. I know what I've wanted for a long time, now… and never had the sense or the guts to admit… And what's still scaring me is … what I don't know… what I might get wholly, entirely wrong… But, I want to … I want to …give that … another try. And maybe then… maybe then I'll be able to … to … stop being scared and pay some attention to … to you.'' Jim said, and then he reached for Artemus' arms, for his shoulders, and then, for his face.

This whole dream was feeling more and more real, And Jim thought briefly, while tasting the actor's eager mouth again, that he should be worried about that. But he wasn't. He was making the choice to be here and now, and let after take care of after. He was making the choice to stay here within the circle of Artemus's arms. And he could not remember in his life, feeling stronger, safer and more content than he did right now. And when Jim looked, Artemus's eyes were full of warmth, full of life and laughter and rejoicing that Jim had finally made it over his own last remaining breastworks. There was no fear, no pain, no loathing, in Artemus' eyes or on his face, only affection, only pride in Jim's accomplishment, only something deeper than a brother's love. ''Artemus, I need to tell you…'' Jim began, wanting to share this strange and strangely good feeling welling up in his mind and heart.

''You don't need to tell me a thing, Jim. Not a single thing. These are the kinds of things, the kind of places in our hearts where words literally fail us. These feelings, these needs, and these responses, are visceral, and I believe, as old inside all of us as breathing air instead of water, or seeking shelter in a storm, or any of the myriad things we do that keep us alive. I was raised to believe that it's our duty, our obligation to keep ourselves and the people around us alive. I was raised to believe that every single life in the world, every single form of life, is absolutely sacred, Because it was Adonai's gift to us, that He not only gave to us, at the beginning of time, but that He gave into our care. And I was raised to believe what one of our Sages, said, thousands of years ago

"If you take one life, you destroy a world. If you save one life, you save the world entire.' And what that has to do with what we're dealing with now, is just this, Jim: If each of us is so vital to the world, and to G-d who gave us life to cherish, then we are destroying that world when we reject, when we deny, when we leave each other alone in our grief and pain, the isolation we're all so terribly familiar with. Because that, my friend is killing each other's souls, and those my friend are the sparks of G-d's creation within all of us. How's that for a sermon from a guy who left school at twelve to start grifting in the Tenderloin, instead of growing up to be a rabbi as ima Rochel probably hoped I could, somehow where they didn't have problems with momsers like me, with this once in a generation mind of mine?''

''It's fine, Artemus, just fine. ''

''You're right, James. It's fine. In fact, its so very much better than fine. Wake up, James. Open your baby-green eyes and wake up now. This isn't a dream, or a vision or an imagining anymore, if it ever truly was.'' Artie cheerfully insisted.

''Wake up? Wait! I couldn't have just dreamed… ''

'' Take the beans out of your ears, partner. I just said you're not dreaming this, not right now. Just open your eyes!''

Complying, Jim nearly jumped off the chaise he had gone to sleep on … at some point, hours before. But then Artie's laugh rumbled all around him and the younger man relaxed, and looked straight into the actor's bright, dark gaze. He hadn't dreamt this part. He was still in Artemus' strong, warm, loving embrace, and that fact made Jim want to jump again, for joy. The shadows of a nightmare place were vanishing.

The fading light, the dim hope from a strange mirror's images he'd been holding onto, like a deep breath, blazed up now like a bonfire within him. And now, Jim returned Artie's embrace and clung to the actor like a man pulled from a heavy sea in a storm. He didn't know if he dared, awake what he'd just barely been able to dare in a dream, But Jim knew one more effort would tell him, one more step down the path would probably tell them both if they were going to take any more steps there at all. "Artemus, I…" he started to say

"This one's on my tab, James. This is my turn." Artemus insisted. "So, try your best to hush, you could at least, maybe take it down to a dull roar?"

"Sure, Artemus, but…"

"No, no buts, not that kind not just now." The actor said, with the kind of laughing sternness in his voice that Jim could never mistake for anyone else's. Then Artemus was pulling Jim close, and Artemus's own unshaven morning beard was scratching Jim's chin, and Artemus's mouth was on his and Artemus's scratchy/soft, gentle, rough mouth and lips and tongue and teeth were making their way to places Jim himself didn't know were so receptive, so open, so hungry, so keen for that, this touch, Artemus's touch, and Jim thought for all the world that he would pass out there and then, like a schoolgirl at her first dance.

Artemus was exploring Jim's neck, and his shoulders, then going back to delve into Jim's mouth with the eagerness of a man thirsting for the only kind of wine he could drink. Then Jim began to loose track of where and what Artemus was reaching with his hands, his fingers, his legs, his mouth…because everywhere he touched, a kind of delectable warmth sprang up that threatened to become a blaze, just as Artemus withdrew to set the kindling somewhere else.

There was never such a silence between them before, Jim thought while his mind seemed to be pleasurably dying away…not this kind, that spoke without any words, nearly without sounds at all…Artemus was asking question after question without words, without any kind of words at all. But he was every bit as eloquent this way as with any other language Jim had ever heard him use…

Was this touch pleasurable? Artemus's tongue asked, was this pressure painful? Was this brush of fingertips on skin too much was this delving into yet another eagerly opening place too much a threat? Was this tracing fire down Jim's chest towards his groin something welcome, something wanted? Was this rain of nuzzling, nipping kisses Artemus's soft/scratchy/gentle/insistent mouth tracked from Jim's face down his neck, down his torso, towards and into the already warm and threatening to blaze up triangle formed by Jim's legs and his pelvis more than the traffic would allow?

It wasn't. It wasn't at all. Jim did his best to answer. He wanted this and more …more than he'd ever imagined…He was going to plumb lose consciousness if Artemus went on any further, And he was going to plumb lose his mind if Artemus didn't…And at that contradiction in terms, Jim tried to laugh aloud…with all his mind and heart and soul…He didn't though, instead, Jim answered the wordless questions Artemus was asking him with his own mouth and hands and with all the strength in his arms, his legs and his whole frame. This was something Jim hadn't known he dreamt of, hadn't guessed he longed for, hadn't dared ask this gentle, strong, warm, just a touch rough, daring, gifted man.

And in years, Jim tried now to silently say, the deeply buried part of him that might have known, might have guessed, might have dared, had never so much as hoped to be able to love Artemus and be loved in return. So yes, this was like being a starving man allowed into a feast he'd watched from outside a window most of his life. And yes, this was like a dream, but their touches, their kisses, their searching, asking, probing, answering, blending were all the evidence he'd ever need that it was real. And finally, as long as it was without spoken words, yes, yes, he loved Artemus more than he'd loved anyone in longer than he could remember, albeit his memory had some problem areas, still, And if he couldn't say it any other way,

Jim wanted more than anything to say with his hands, his warmth, his fingers, his lips, and each part of him, how much being able to love, being willing and eager and finally ready to love and be loved…to be loved by Artemus Gordon and love Artemus Alastair Lachlan Gordon in return, was what he wanted more than anything, and what he was ordained to do for the next few hundred years!

But there was hardly time for such deep thoughts, Jim almost laughed again, as Artemus was probing, with a gentle, persistent, fiery touch all the deepest parts of his frame, all the deepest parts of his psyche, too. This was too urgent, this was too shining and sweet and sure to burn out before they could even feel the warmth if they didn't hurry. This was too the near edge of losing control, and certain to drown them both if they couldn't hold back.

It was so sudden, so swift, and so deeply hungry that Jim wasn't sure he could hold this drive in, as needed. It was so fine, so clear and clean in how it changed his whole way of looking at things, that Jim didn't know if anyone else could understand it. And it was the best choice Jim thought he'd ever possibly made, to be quiet and let Artemus lead the way. But they couldn't hurry, this was too rich and funny, too unforeseen and too plain good to rush. And they couldn't hold back, not indefinitely, there was too much pent up energy, unspoken emotion, and a feeling of far too much wasted time for that kind of restraint.

So, it seemed to Jim, they only held on, gasping sometimes, laughing and crying out at others, with the barriers between them, the space between their two bodies and the divisions between their two spirits crashing down around them. But their bodies were much part of it too. Jim thought he surely knew everything there was to know about his own, and a fair amount about men's bodies in general, having lived inside one all his life. And he did. And he didn't. Jim had to rely on his hands, his fingers, his features, his limbs, his skin, to tell him what he needed to know about Artemus that he didn't already. The older man was taller, sure, and muscular, that wasn't a surprise, but what Jim was learning now was something else entirely.

Artemus was strong, he could and in fact did now pick Jim up like a welter's if not a feather's weight. Artemus was so strong, Jim was just able to think, Artemus was the stronger of them, and likely had always been…not him, not Jim…not the athlete, the show off, the best racer in the county…in three counties. Artemus was strong enough to hold Jim's spirit in his hands and hold Jim's heart in his own, safe and sound and finally, finally home. Artemus was strong enough to let Jim go for years seeming tough, seeming brave, seeming …always seeming the stronger one…because Jim needed to, and Artemus wanted for Jim everything his partner ever wanted or needed…Artemus loved him…

And had done so for G-d alone knows how long and would never have said so, would never have let on, would never have let it come near their friendship…unasked. Artemus would have lived and died a friend, a partner and a much needed older brother…to a man he loved like this, without a word of it spoken. And that, Jim tried but couldn't form a whole thought around it, that was the most surprising thing of all.

"Artemus, why?" Jim managed to ask, even while Artemus was marvelously busy driving all ability to think or speak out of him once more…

"Because." Artie laughed, and went on with his agreeable occupation somewhere in the region of Jim's solar plexus. Artemus had some scarring Jim knew all the details of. But more, the actor's handsome features had been marred as well, and a long time ago, by getting his aquiline nose broken for him in some of those hood fights Artemus didn't like to talk about.

And there were scars that no street fight or War time mishap put on Artemus's shoulders, his arms, his upper chest…rapier scars, Jim thought, from all those onstage duels when they were all supposed to have tipped swords to avoid just such things. And there were scars Artemus didn't want Jim to see, and wouldn't hide from him any longer either…because they were hiding nothing, nothing from each other now, they couldn't. Here, on Artemus's brilliant memory and vivid spirit, where no one else had seen, except for the kind, dark/bright compassionate eyes of his grandmother Rifka were the forty year old scars Artemus had from the words his schoolmates used for a boy who had "no father'…

And here, on his heart of hearts, were the marks of a mother's quiet sadness, of her unspoken pride in Artemus, and pain in his conception, of her death, of the loneliness that left him with that only a theatre full of enthralled yokels seemed to fill, for such a long time. Because hidden away in this gregarious, fun loving, gifted, funny and constantly daring heart, was a boy of eight and a half years old, named Adamech Auriel Elisha, who stood in a winter bare field, no, a burial ground, with a black wool coat keeping off the chill, and a black satin kippe on his head of curly dark brown black hair.

He was solemnly tearing the lapel of his coat in the ritual gesture of mourning among his people. And then he was accepting a prayer book from Yakov Gorniak, known in the New World as Jacob Gordon. In a high, clear, carrying voice, this somber little boy with wide, dark chocolate dark brown eyes read the Mourner's Prayer and read it well and lovingly.

A pair of tears made and attempt to slide down the 's face, but he wiped them away with a quick gesture of his free arm. And Jim felt as if he'd always known this sad, big eyed and clear voiced child. And he'd always loved him, even though when they met Jim was twenty-two and Artemus was thirty-four. Then, Jim was surprised again, because giving the siddur, the prayer book back to his grandfather, this young Artemus turned around and smiled thinly, straight in Jim's direction, and nodded to him.

_Adamech Elisha, I'm sorry. I don't want to intrude on your …"_

_Ima died, She caught the flu, the bad flu that everyone's had this fall and winter. She couldn't …She could hardly breath. She couldn't…get well. She wasn't strong enough, any more. I'm going to be nine, soon, in the spring, before Pesach. I can be strong, strong. Ima won't have to worry about Me._

_I think mommas worry about us anyway. My name's …_

_Your name's James…James Torrance something or other…But James is the same as my Zeyde's first name, somebody told me, it's the same as Yakov, as Jacob, and …you're a goy_

_Are you going to be okay, now, Artemus? I think …I know I have to get going. Are you going to be okay?_

_I have Aunt Miri to take care of now. She'll be fine. So will Bubbe Rifka and Zeyde Yakov. I'll take care of them. You'll see. You'll see. You'll come to Second Night Seder, one of these times. Then you'll see what good care we all take of each other. Besides, we sing and tell stories and jokes and have the best, well, almost the best things to eat…I like Chanukah better for eating, though. We have to go home, now. So do you. See you, Goyim._

_See you, Adamech Elisha. Jim laughed._

_Jim, what are you doing, wandering around in my memories? Artemus laughed in turn._

_I'm thinking maybe James isn't such a bad name, after all. And what's so bad about being "the nations', anyway?_

_They 're not **us**. That's what. Artemus grinned and then shook his head. But it's alright, you're alright for an unbeliever._

_Thanks, partner. Thanks. Jim laughed._

_Think nothing of it…where were we?_

_I was almost done inventorying your scar collection. You've got some whoppers, here, and then what are those…Oh, _

_Yeah, oh._

_Jim looked again and sighed. Because here where Artemus's heart was yet more scarred, were the worst ones. Scars from others, from 'the nations' unreasoning, unknowing hatred and age old lies were on this brave, good, wise heart. Scars from the casual slurs and mockery of boys were here to be seen, old and worn down in some places, and shockingly new in others. ''Can't I get rid of these, for you, partner? Can't I do something for all these old … and these newer wounds and scars?'' Jim asked, feeling as though they'd slipped back into a dream state. _

_''Some of them have been there just about forever, Jim. So, leave them, I'm not that sure I'd be … well, me, if they were gone. The newer ones; well there's always somebody ready to hurl invective… I should be tough enough to let it bounce… bounce off… Maybe… Maybe I can show you … Maybe that's something we can both do for each other, now.'' _

_''Show me? Oh… well, sure, Artie… surely…'' _

A feather's touch, deft and light as the best surgeon's now reached into Jim's heart…and took out scars Jim would have said he'd almost forgotten himself…

Scars that said this was the heart of a boy, not a man, and not one to hold the burdens or rewards of a soldier, or an officer, or a leader. Scars that more recently came during the long, sad passing of Jim's father, only leavened by the rapprochement they'd finally found. And there were older scars… Scars that had the markings of a child named Jimmy who couldn't understand, how it could be a gooder thing for his momma to be so far and far away he couldn't see her, ever any more.

Following Artemus's lead then, Jim touched the latest scars he'd seen on his partner's somewhat battered and yet wide open heart, and surely, swiftly as a thought, as and embrace, they were gone. I thought I knew this man. I thought I knew myself too, though and there've been a few shocks in that category, lately. I thought I knew Artemus backwards and forwards and …understood him better than anyone. He said that I did, that I do. But, now it seems as if there are so many things I don't know, I don't know at all So who is this tall, strapping, scarred, and unArtemusishly quiet man kissing, touching, tasting, holding and …strumming me like a banjo…? And who, who's the fellow he's holding? Jim West?

No, that's not possible, not that parade ground martinet! How? When? Why? And, most important, is any of that important at all? I feel like I walked outside my own skin…and with Artemus…ARTEMUS? And I've never been surer in my life that whoever I am after all this…time and turmoil…I belong here. And this, the answer came like something he'd known all his life, was them, who they were, together and apart.

They were still two separate beings, separate minds and bodies, but they weren't. And it was, just perhaps, the best thing they 'd ever done or ever would do. In one long spell of quiet, breathing a bit more slowly, something came back to Jim to tease at the edges of his mind. Artemus knew how to lead the way. This wasn't new to Artemus. He'd said as much. What did that mean? What would it mean down the road, down their road? If it helped them make this new …creation, this new path, did it matter? He decided no, not right now.

_Right now, it meant Artemus's hands were as talented in ways Jim hadn't considered as his voice, his manner, his whole…what was the word he used…'instrument'? _

Right now it meant Jim had never felt anything as captivating as the actor's strong, amazingly sensitive fingers, playing Jim himself like an instrument that should have needed all it's strings renewed, all it's frets turned, and all it's surfaces polished…but didn't, not right here and now. And right now it meant that Artemus whispering warmly in Jim's left ear was sending messages to a lot more than his auditory nerves. But what was Artemus saying?

Jim could only feel the brush of his mouth, the soft scritch of his moustache, and the yet softer touch of his lower lip. His capacity for understanding the spoken word had flown, minutes, hours, maybe weeks ago when Artemus said "no buts'. And urge to giggle rose in Jim's throat and he pushed it down. This was something serious, after all. Wasn't it? Surely it was serious. What would Mac think of his protégées? And then there was Jere and Frank… they'd hardly know what to think or do or say … much more than Jim did, himself, right now. And the Service? And the President? …And Jim could hardly get that to matter much right now because Artemus was whispering in his right ear, which was somehow even more sensitive than it's opposite number. Only now Jim could make out what his …what Artemus was saying.

"What's put that kind of pondering deep thoughts frown on your face, James? Something I said? Something I didn't? Was there a spot I missed?"

"I don't think so, unless there was a corner bar between here and there." Jim laughed. "You sound about three sheets to the wind, and that's the way I feel."

"A bit dizzy? Thank you, kind sir. I'll take that as a compliment. Just try to breathe a little bit more deeply, Jim, the bends will go away, in time."

"Not if you're planning another dive, not anytime soon." Jim chuckled.

"We can come up for air, if you'd like. Only remember, no rococo. And not too much talking." Artie laughed warmly.

"You're asking someone else not to be rococo and not to talk too much?" Jim demanded, peering at his partner.

"As a matter of fact, yes. I've never been rococo in my life, James, I'm staunchly baroque, thank you. What did you want to be talking about?" Artemus said, trying and failing to scowl at the younger man.

"Umm…Honestly, Artemus, I'm not sure I have the faintest idea…I …don't even know the vocabulary for this…this…" Jim admitted.

"Well, love making is always a good choice." Artemus laughed, but warmly. "I suppose with some woebegone types it's called a sin, and with others just plain sex. But I don't think that's what just happened here, Jim. Do you?"

"No. I think…I think it was incredible, and …good…I …I think it …It was bewildering, and it was the answer to a few thousand questions I didn't know I had waiting to ask. It was crazy, and the most sensible thing I could imagine all at once. And it was the surest, most honest, most confusing … gift, I've ever been given.'' Jim answered.

"That's a good start, Jim, go on." Artie said and since he was smiling but not laughing, the younger agent complied.

"You're just making fun of me struggling with words when you're the one who's good with them…and other things. But this…idea…this …insight…It's slippery, damn slippery, Artemus. It's as though I decided to go fishing for eels without a net or a line or pole. I just think I'm getting a hold of it, and …there it goes. So, I'm not sure what it means. And I'm not sure what it's going to mean. And I don't have the least idea where it's going to take …us…and I'm not sure it's going to take us someplace we want …you'd want to…we'd want to go." Jim said and stopped, glancing at his partner as if looking for the same worry in Artie's dark bright eyes that he still felt.

"Well, I think you might be heading over into the borrowing trouble region, But let me hear the rest of this discourse before I decide what kind of help it is you need, young man." Artemus prodded.

"Artemus, damn it, don't start calling me young man again as if I were …" Jim frowned.

"Ten years younger than me, James? That should tell you how I feel about being called your partner, 'the **old** grifter'. Okay?"

" Okay. Thanks. I don't know which of the troubles **we know** to expect about this are going to show up first, and what kind we don't know about, too. I don't know what …we…what I…what anyone expects…and that used to be …kinda important to me, what people expect. And then there's the whole question of what happens down the road. A lot of …a lot of people won't expect this…and they ' won't be quiet about it, I'm willing to bet. How many people then, will be left who …don't mind…I have no idea whatsoever. But I know, I mean that is I think, everything is changed, now. Everything. Your life, your work, our work, our families…our friends…our friendship…I know that's so, Artemus and I couldn't even tell you how I know it."

"You can't what? Because I'd tend to argue with you on that, friend, if you're talking about …" Artie started but saw that Jim wasn't done and went quiet again.

"No, not that. You said…Artemus…You said something before…before we …made love and you said it …to me, and you meant it. And I don't understand it…honestly and so how can you …when I …don't and so …Artemus, I would …… I …if I …And I know that I …can't…That ol' Jim doesn't have the words in his vocabulary, or in his mind, or anywhere else. They won't so much as come out of his mouth. And that just seems to me, Artemus, and it always has, this is nothing new, only I…I've been thinking about it more…lately. That I never could so much as tell a friend, a cousin, my father, …not a woman, not a man I know could I say…

And if that isn't a prett damn good way to define and empty hearted sob, then I don't know what is! Because not to a single living soul since my Granma Jean died, have I been able to say I loved them. Artemus, we're going to get back to that, but my point is that when…when it seemed to me that you were dying…Artemus, I couldn't even say I loved you…" Jim turned his face away, knowing he couldn't read Artemus's expression and knowing the actor could read his, fluently.

"You couldn't…" Artemus started and stopped. "Jim, what…what on earth makes you think I wouldn't understand that? I understand. And even if I didn't, you're not that hard a read these days. Jim, this is part and parcel of what we started out talking about. Isn't it? Isn't it?"

"Yep." Jim nodded.

" James, I am willing to talk till dawn about this, if you want to. Words are my other instruments, Jim. So I know their worth, and I know their over estimation, too. You aren't a wordsmith. And you don't need to be. And I don't think you even understand why that is. Do you?" Artie asked.

"Nope." the younger man shook his head.

"Okay, well, we'll get back to that, too. Listen to me about this other part for a second, will you? That night, you were thrown for a loop. How can you, still be knocking yourself around the block for being shocked and scared and angry? Who wouldn't be?" Artie demanded, almost sounding angry.

"Your partner." Jim insisted.

''Nonsense. **That **was clearly another Janus, another impostor!'' Artie insisted. ''The real McCoy, or I should say the real James West is sitting right here, leaning against me, with his stomach rumbling and he's talking to me, right now."

''My stomach doesn't rumble!'' Jim asserted, only to be shown up by that annoying organ.

''That settles it! I'm fixing an early supper, or a late dinner or a very early breakfast for us both! We need to stoke up for the next session's diving!'' Artemus said and almost jumped off the bed they'd conveniently meandered to at some point Jim wasn't entirely sure he wholly remembered.

''Hey, wait!'' Jim protested, as the ebullient older man's actions nearly pulled him onto the carpet, sans shirt, pants and all.

''Waiting to take your order, Mister West, sir.'' Artie chortled, instantly going into extremely obsequious, if not downright oily waiter-mode.

''Okay, Uriah.'' Jim scoffed, applying the most suitable Dickens' character's name to the persona Artemus abruptly adopted. '' I want **breakfast**; four eggs over easy, and sausage, French toast, damn strong coffee and … kippers, Yeah, I want some kippers. But I don't think we have any, so I'll settle for pickled herring. And first, I want you back on this rack, Mister, **and on the double-quick!**''

''Oh, of course, sir! Just as you say, Master James! Oh, of course, at once, sir!'' Artie-Uriah chuckled gleefully, and winked as he followed instructions. The actor followed and gave instructions in his turn for the rest of that afternoon, as it turned out the partners had already spent half the day in Jim's cabin. When resources ran thin there, they repaired to the galley, and then to Artemus' 'room'.

Later records did not indicate the length of time these long time partners spent during their journey east reorganizing their quarters, replenishing supplies, and rearranging the newer and older elements of their friendship. It seemed sufficient to both men, by what the agents noted in their journals and memoirs, however that this 'redeployment'; as James West most often called it, was duly recognized and celebrated, by the principals, at least.

**ADDENDUM:**

US History plainly tells us that, despite what a certain bizarre device, the creation of a certain curiously inventive mind supposedly revealed, James Torrance Kiernan West never sought pr pursued any local, regional, or national office. Instead, he became a peripatetic professor of Tactics, Armaments and Encryption, at the Secret Service, and US Military Academies; and in later years, retired to his family home near Norfolk, 'to raise some grand nieces and nephews, a few second cousins and a modest stock of horses'.

He'd become very active by that time in seeking and obtaining support and funds, hospices, hospitals and homes for veterans; to such an extent that those who cherished his advocacy dubbed West 'unofficial Secretary of Veterans Affairs'. It was clear that this second career well pleased the Maryland-born, Virginia-raised former agent. He worked and spoke and toured tirelessly to promote the cause of his 'brothers in arms', which grouping, for James Torrance Kiernan West, always included veterans from both Union and Confederate armies. His cherished mentor, Ulysses Grant, West said, was his example in working to honor and respect and reunify those old campaigners.

And nothing delighted James West more, his friends and family noted, than being able to attend the Gettysburg Reunion of 1913, fifty years to the date after what some considered the crucial battle of 'their War'.'' A white haired, wiry, wrinkled collection of old soldiers stood at the stone wall that so brutally marked the turning point of that battle's last charge, and shook hands, northern and southern, across the barrier that no longer divided us, and never would, again.' West wrote in his journal. Four summers later, at his home outside Norfolk, surrounded by his closest friends and kin, the brevet-Brigadier and Medal of Honor recipient peacefully passed away; only a few months after the nation he served so long, so courageously and so well, entered the First World War.

A further delving into the records of post Civil War Washington and the federal government agencies there, indicates that Artemus Alastair Lachlan Gordon **was **appointed and served as Secret Service Director with great honor and accomplishment in the years most closely preceeding and following the 'Great War'. He was the fourth former agent to hold that post and one of the most lovingly remembered.

It became his habit, year upon year, even following his retirement, to teach Languages, Camouflage, the Natural and Practical Sciences, and a smattering of Higher Math or Physics, at the Service Academy and several other small colleges. The high point, this generous, gifted teacher himself later noted, came when the University of California, awarded Artemus Alastair Lachlan Gordon, who never graduated grammar school, a Doctorate Emeritus degree for his tireless work for it's students, and those who only dreamed of attending there.

Nor did it go unnoticed that this gifted thespian was also an enormously generous patron, funding a great many acting and production companies, from his native San Francisco to his beloved Chicago, and in New York, Charleston, Boston, Richmond, New Orleans and Washington. His playwriting filled many of those companies repertoires for years to come, and his texts on theatre were widely applauded as standards to be followed but rarely matched.

It was not until the spring of 1920, three years after his long time friend, companion and partner James West died, that Artemus Alastair Lachlan Gordon, not surprisingly still in the midst of a new theatre project and the plans for a revised Academy curriculum, passed away, with all the ease any of his thousands of friends, students, colleagues and admirers could have wished. No one who knew these beloved partners doubted for an instant that they were 'working together' again.

Another Beginning?


End file.
